


This Is Your School

by orphan_account



Series: This Is Your School [1]
Category: Bully: Scholarship Edition, Grand Theft Auto V
Genre: Alternate Universe - Boarding School, Alternate Universe - High School, Crossover, Drama, Friendship/Love, Multi, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-17
Updated: 2014-12-24
Packaged: 2018-01-16 02:55:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 26
Words: 134,276
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1329214
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>GTA V/Bully crossover. When Franklin Clinton is dumped on the doorstep of Bullworth Academy by his aunt, he expects to be out of the place by the end of the week. However, in a place where only the strong survive, Franklin quickly discovers there are some students that need to be put in their place. Challenging the various intricate cliques, Franklin makes friends and enemies in a bid to make it through the year alive...<br/>**Now with art!!**</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Welcome To Hell

**Author's Note:**

> The idea for a GTA V/Bully crossover has been locked in my noggin for ages now. Hopefully I will be able to do it justice - I'm freaking excited about this. If you comment/subscribe/kudos I will bake you cookies, and it would also mean a lot to me. :) 
> 
> Title; This Is Your School  
> Rating; M  
> Warnings; Language, adult themes, sexual content  
> Disclaimer; all characters, themes etc belong to Rockstar and not me. Unfortunately.

When Franklin was a kid, there had been this building in the neighbourhood that his mom had lived in. It was big and red-bricked; a shadow on an otherwise idyllic street, a hideous bruise on smooth, unblemished skin. It had once been a prison, Franklin had heard, but now it stood derelict and beaten down; terrifying the neighbourhood kids and unnerving the adults. It was now used by drug addicts, the walls stained in graffiti and the grounds littered with broken beer bottles and condom wrappers. Its cells, once used by prisoners, were now populated by rats. Franklin used to stare out of his bedroom window at the building, swap stories with the other kids about haunted cell-blocks and murderers dragging bodies in there after dark. When his mom couldn't pay the rent any more and they had to move away, to a smaller neighbourhood surrounded by apartment blocks, Franklin pushed the memory of the building to the back of his mind. He never thought he would ever think about it again. Until now, one cold September afternoon when he's sixteen, sitting in the backseat of his aunt Denise's car, looking up at another imposing red-bricked building that resembles the one of his childhood almost perfectly. 

"Boy! Ain't you  _listenin'_ _?_ " his aunt's cold voice roused him from his reverie and forced him to look at her. She was frowning at him from the front seat, nails biting into the steering wheel. "I said we're here! And you should feel blessed, boy, I never got to go to any private school. Ain't nobody back home ever in private school either. And if I hear you been causin' any trouble at this place, I swear it's military school. Boy, your momma would turn in her grave knowing this is your third school this year! But you're not--"

Franklin drowned her out and turned back to the window. A pair of wrought-iron gates glared back at him, and above them, a sign that read:  _Bullworth Academy_ , followed by a ridiculous, cartoon-like picture of a bull. When he'd heard the word 'academy', Franklin had pictured some pompous institution. In contrast, the building he saw beyond the gates and the courtyard was old and angry. There was a clock tower on the roof, but Franklin could see from here that the clock was crooked and cracked. He felt his eyebrows knit together as he took it all in. What kind of place was this?

"--out of my way to drive you all the way up here, I swear. What are you  _waitin'_ on, boy? Hurry up! Get out of the car and get your bag, I got a yoga class at five."

Franklin shot his aunt a dark look before climbing out of the backseat and going around to the trunk. He stiffened as the bitingly-cold hair hit him, raising goose-bumps on his skin and making him pull his jacket tighter around his small frame. He grabbed his bag from the trunk and swung it across his back, hitching the strap up his shoulder. His aunt lowered the window only a crack, her beady eyes glaring out at him through it. "No trouble," she hissed. "I'm serious. You keep getting expelled, there ain't gonna be any more schools to enroll you in."

"That's the point."

"Military school!" she shot back angrily, which immediately made him shut up. His aunt smiled maliciously. "Have fun, Franklin!"

He stood and watched her car drive away until it had disappeared completely. The silence was deafening. Franklin looked down at his shoes and shivered as a particularly vicious blast of cold September air blew across from the east. He looked in that direction and noticed the distant tops of buildings. Bullworth town, he presumed. He imagined taking his bag and running in that direction; he'd find a small motel he could afford to stay in with the few dollars Denise had given him, and he'd spend the rest of the year living in peace while his aunt imagined him being caned in a classroom or something. The idea made him feel warm with hope. Franklin hiked his bag up higher on his back and went to walk away from the gates, before suddenly, a hand came down and seized him by the shoulder.

It was followed by a woman's stern voice. "Franklin Clinton?"

Franklin whirled around to see a woman with short brown hair in an immaculate gray suit looking down at him. "Uh, yeah?"

"Principal Weston would like to see you in his office, Mr. Clinton, to officially welcome you to Bullworth Academy. If you'll please follow me."

Franklin had no choice but to go after her. The steady click-clack of her high heels against the cobblestone courtyard was amplified and seemed to drill right into his head. He looked around and wondered where all the students were. The silence was eerie; he expected to be suddenly jumped or mugged. This whole place had a sketchy look to it. He felt intimidated by the school building as they approached it and went up the stone steps. The woman pushed open the front doors and Franklin followed; all of a sudden finding himself in a chaotic blur of school uniforms.

Students moved in great packs; cackling, slamming locker doors, shouting and screaming. He felt several pairs of eyes on him, looking him up and down, as he followed the woman towards a grand staircase. Franklin straightened and focused his vision in front of him. Someone shouted, "Hey! Fresh meat!" and there was a burst of laughter. Franklin ignored it. He'd been the new kid twice this year; he was well-used to it.

The woman led him to a grand office on the second floor. The room was warm thanks to a crackling fireplace, and it was also covered in photographs of the same guy: the principal, Franklin presumed. He eyed the gray-haired man smirking at him from the pictures and disliked him automatically. The woman sat behind a polished mahogany desk, on top of which sat a gold plate which read: _Ms Molly Schultz, Headmasters' Secretary._ She pointed to an ajar door on the opposite end of the room. "Don't keep Principal Weston waiting, Mr. Clinton," she said in a clipped voice. "He is a very busy man, his time is valuable."

Franklin turned his back on her and rolled his eyes. He paused at the door to knock and pushed it open slowly after a gruff voice told him to enter. Inside it was warm and full of light; well-decorated with paintings and statues and plush armchairs. Before Franklin could have a good look, a man called out to him from behind a desk. "Mr. Clinton! Welcome to Bullworth Academy. Come in, come in, come over here and sit down."

Franklin did, perching cautiously on the edge of one of the armchairs by the desk. Principal Weston sat with his hands folded on top of a thick brown folder, his smirk all-smugness. "Thanks," Franklin said. 

"Thank you...?"

Franklin cocked an eyebrow, but gave in. "Thank you,  _sir_."

Principal Weston sat back and smiled. "Here at Bullworth we pride ourselves on manners, Mr. Clinton, I'm sure you'll fit in just fine." His smile vanished. "Although I can't help but notice you've had a problem settling in at your other schools, correct?" He opened the folder in front of him and started flicking through it. "Vandalism...theft of school property...disrespecting school faculty... fighting... well, well, well, Mr. Clinton, it seems we have a real tough guy on our hands here."

Franklin frowned. "Look, I don't need a lecture." A muscle in the side of Principal Weston's mouth jumped. " _Sir_."

"You listen to me, slick," the older man said sharply, "You're not at any other school right now, you're in  _my_ school, and when you're in my school, you abide by  _my_ rules. Is that clear? You're not the first delinquent I've dealt with, Clinton, and you definitely won't be the last. So drop the attitude." 

Franklin exhaled. If he had his way, he'd be out of here by the end of the day. But his aunt's threat of military school was stuck in his head like glue. He had no choice, he had to stay here. As Principal Weston began to ramble on about respect and manners, Franklin tried to look on the bright side of things. It was a boarding school, which meant a year away from his aunt and her string of boyfriends. He'd have independence here, maybe the town was a good place to be, there could be girls--

Something was dropped onto the desk and it forced him to turn back. A blue sweater and beige-colored slacks sat folded in front of him. "Your uniform," Principal Weston told him, "Here, you wear your uniform on school campus on weekdays until classes end. I don't care if you wear a potato sack on Saturdays and Sundays, but you wear this during the week, all right Slick?"

Franklin just nodded. 

"Any questions before I release you into the wild, Clinton?" His tone carried a condescending tone. Franklin began to imagine punching him the face. 

"Where do I go now?"

"The boys dormitories are on your right when you exit the school building," Weston replied. "Is that all? Good." Franklin stood up and grabbed his bag. He got as far as the door before Weston called out to him again. "I mean it, Clinton, no trouble or you'll be out on your ass. Oh, and kid? Namaste."

 

* * *

 

 

The boys dormitories were anarchy. Franklin had only stepped in the door when he was nearly trampled by a stampede of boys rushing to get out the door, and then almost impaled when a boy with matted blond hair came charging around the corner with a hockey stick. There was also a heavy smell of socks and hair gel that made Franklin wince as he made his way down one of the narrow corridors in search of his dorm; Room 23. He found it at the very end of the hall by the staircase. The door was wide open. 

Franklin stepped over the threshold and gave the room a once-over before throwing his bag onto the bed on the opposite wall, as it seemed to be unoccupied. The room looked like hell, cramped and cluttered and clothes strewn along the floor and only one, battered closet. The other bed in the room was covered by a thick layer of school books and clothes. So he had a roommate. Despite the candy wrappers, piles of clothes and empty soda cans, the room was still fairly comfortable. Franklin changed quickly into his school uniform and then lay on his bed, yanking at the itchy collar of his sweater. 

It was clear Bullworth Academy wasn't your average private school. Every few minutes Franklin would witness someone run screaming past his door, being chased by someone else. He shut his eyes and sighed after witnessing a burly boy with a shock of sandy hair walk past his door dangling another boy upside down and laughing as coins came jumping out of his pockets. He stared into the darkness of his eyelids and imagined his aunt packing for her vacation with whatever guy she was seeing this week, the two of them giggling and saying how great it was that they had finally got rid of that stupid kid. 

Franklin's eyes shot open when he heard a bang just inches away from him. He sat up and saw a lanky boy in a green school sweater holding his nose beside the other bed, spluttering as a strange greenish smog began billowing out from the bedsheets. 

"Shit!" The boy hissed. "Aw, fuck! Shit! Sh--"

"Hey!" Franklin clambered to his feet. "What is that?"

The boy leapt back as if something had stung him. "What the fu - where the hell did you come from -- hey, do me a favour and open up them windows behind you."

Franklin did, but only because an overwhelmingly strong stench of rotten eggs had suddenly descended across the room. He coughed and gagged as the smell got stuck in his throat, fumbling with the latches on the windows and then sticking his head out of them, gulping in great lungfuls of air, suddenly grateful for the chilly fresh air. After a few minutes it had lessened to a faint odour, barely recognizable under the regular sock-and-hair-gel smell. Franklin wiped his streaming eyes and looked back at the boy. 

"What the hell was that?"

"A motherfuckin' stink bomb," said the boy.

"Why the hell did you let off a fucking stink bomb?"

"What? Hey, dog, I didn't let off any stink bomb, damn thing went off on its motherfuckin' own." He gathered up the textbooks on the bed and shoved them onto a pile of clothes on the floor. "Are you that new kid? They told me I was gettin' a roommate, so I cleaned the place up a little." 

Franklin almost laughed. If this was the room clean, he shuddered to think about what it looked like when it was messy. "I just got here earlier, man. I'm Franklin, Franklin Clinton."

"You're fuckin' short, Franklin Clinton," said the other boy abruptly, and just as Franklin was about to smack him in the mouth, he hastily added, "I mean, that's why I didn't see you when I came in. Calm yo ass, dog, it's all good. I'm Lamar Davis." He smiled. "Hey, what do you think of Bullworth so far?"

"It's a hellhole."

Lamar laughed. "Yeah, you're right. I ain't never met anyone who liked it. Hey," he paused, "do you know your way around yet, man? Because I can give you the Lamar Davis exclusive tour if you want, and I won't even charge you, homie."

Franklin wondered if he was kidding. "Uh, for sure. That sounds good."

"Cool! You gotta know how this place works, you know."

"What do you mean 'works'?"

"You'll see."

 

* * *

 

 

Lamar Davis moved at an alarmingly quick pace, so quick that Franklin was breathless by the time they had climbed the steps and gone inside the school building. It was quiet and calmer. There were only a few students wandering around. Lamar informed him it was dinner time, and that they were all in the cafeteria. 

"Are you hungry, dog?"

"Yeah, actually. Is the food here any good?"

"Fuck no, but we can go to the cafeteria. That's like, the perfect place to teach you all you need to know about Bullworth, Frank."

The cafeteria was on the ground floor, a noisy maze of tables and worn benches. It didn't smell much better than the boys dormitories. Lamar got them trays of what looked like slop and when they sat down, Lamar leaned in close and said, "Listen close, man, 'cos you gotta know the cliques here if you wanna survive."

Franklin scoffed. "Survive?"

Lamar's expression was stern. "I'm serious, homie. This place will eat you up and spit you back out in the  _dirt_ if you ain't careful. Now, listen," Lamar turned and pointed to a table at the top of the room. It was populated by a group of teenagers in tidy uniforms that were significantly different to everyone elses. "Preppies," Lamar told him. "Pompous rich kids with more paper in their pockets than I got in my bank account. Don't mess with 'em."

Franklin watched as one of the occupants of the table, a Chinese kid with his school tie wrapped around his head, poked at his tray with disgust. Franklin smiled. "I've dealt with rich kids before."

"Not like the Preppies," Lamar warned. "They got serious power, man. See that guy? That's Steve Haines, he's like, the leader," Lamar gestured to a broad boy with short dark hair texting on an expensive-looking iFruit phone. "His old man is like this motherfuckin' mobster businessman or some shit, right? So last year, this kid Lazlow drops his tray of spaghetti all over Haines, right?  _Total_ fuckin' accident, I mean, I saw it. Next day, Lazlow's vanished, and they're cleanin' out his locker."

"You can't be serious."

"Oh, I am. And they aren't even the worst. See them?" Lamar pointed to another table, this one occupied by a group of teenagers sporting leather jackets over their uniforms. "The Greasers. Don't even _talk_ to them, dog. If you piss of Johnny--" he nodded at a muscular guy who looked totally out of it, "--you'll be in for it. Guy is fuckin' loco, especially when he's high."

"They look like stoners," Franklin shrugged. "They ain't tough."

"Ain't tough?  _Ain't tough_? You just wait until you coming back from Chemistry or Math or some shit, and all of a sudden you doused in gasoline and Johnny fuckin' Klebitz strikes a match upside your head--"

"Fuck, man, okay. I get it. Don't talk to 'em." 

"But you _can_ talk to them," Lamar smiled suddenly and pointed to a table near them. The students wore green, and sat fearfully hunched over their trays, whispering quietly amongst themselves and not moving their eyes from their food. "Nerds. Dweebs. Dorks. We've been named a number of things, man."

"We?"

"Yeah, dog. I'm in with them." Lamar told him proudly. "Yo, we get beat up a lot, but we got power. Don't doubt it. We can take a motherfucker down  _mentally_ , Frank. That's  _mind power_ , that's serious shit."

Franklin smiled and took a sip of his water. Even that tasted weird. "Is that it?" he asked.

"Almost. I'd tell you about the Bullies, but fuck 'em, they just a bunch of dumb bitches man. You do gotta know about the Jocks, though."

"That them, I guess?" Franklin jerked his thumb in the direction of a centre table. It was a sea of blue and white jerseys. 

Lamar nodded. "They rule this school, homie. Don't fuck with 'em. Sure, all they are are hyped-up steroid monkeys but you're gonna fuckin' know about it if you get Michael Townley's fist across your face. 

"Who?"

Lamar pointed to a guy that was shorter than all the others, yet still, something about him screamed tough. He currently had one of the other guys in a headlock and was laughing, the rest of the table in hysterics and cheering him on. "Quarterback," Lamar explained. "He can actually be all right, but dude's got a short-ass temper. Oh, and definitely don't be fuckin' with Amanda. That's his girl," he nodded to a cheerleader at Michael's side, sitting with her arms crossed and a bored expression. "This one time I accidentally bumped into the chick in the hall, and next thing I know, I'm fuckin' deep-sea divin' in a trash can."

Franklin snorted. "I'll keep all that in mind, Lamar."

"So what I'm sayin' is, you live by those rules and you'll make it out of here alive." 

Franklin remembered Weston's similar warnings; and for some reason it made him smirk. He looked around once more and turned back to Lamar with a shrug. "Thanks for taking care of my ass, man. At least I know who to avoid."

"No problem. Oh, and one more thing, if you're in the town at all," Lamar's eyes suddenly flashed, " _don't_ go near them Townies. You'll know 'em when you see 'em. Total freaks, they can kill you, Frank. I'm serious about that. And their leader, fuck.. he's a motherfuckin' psychopath--"

Franklin observed Lamar's face pale and reached out to bump his fist. "Yo, relax man. I'll do what you say."

"I knew you were smart, homie." Lamar bit into his food and grinned. "Oh, and Frank?"

"Yeah?"

"Welcome to hell."

 

 


	2. Picking Fights

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posting this now as I won't have proper internet access until Thursday at the latest. I hope you enjoy this and as always, feedback is appreciated and rewarded with cyber hugs and cookies. 
> 
> Did I mention I love the idea of nerd!Lamar? Because I do.

 

The next morning Franklin woke up to the same shouts and suspicious thuds and bangs that he'd fallen asleep to. He'd dreamed vividly about hot, powdery sand and paradise islands; and when he opened his eyes, for a moment he imagined he was just waking up on the beach, sun in his eyes, the smell of salt water drifting past with the breeze. Unfortunately that idea vanished pretty quickly, once he sat up and inhaled the stench of day-old stink bomb, clinging to the piles of clothes by Lamar's bed. His roommate was fast asleep and snoring against a thick textbook, his glasses askew on the side of his nose and chin. The mattress gave a squeak as Franklin slipped out of it, changed into his uniform and then opened the door a crack.

Outside it was bedlam, but then Franklin hadn't expected anything less. The same boy that had been dangled upside down yesterday flew past his door again, sobbing hysterically, while at the bottom of the hallway Franklin could see a black boy stabbing out a cigarette against the wallpaper. Behind him, Lamar stirred. Franklin hesitated for a moment before he stepped over the threshold and turned down the hallway in search of the front door, desperate for some fresh air.

It was freezing cold outside and the air smelt like rain, but at least it was better than the odour of the dorms. The sky looked like smoke. Franklin hunched over against the wind and started walking, pushing his hands into his pants pockets to keep them warm. He kicked a pebble in front of him and watched it skirt across the cobbles, wondering what Denise was doing now and if she had turned his bedroom into a gym yet. He felt a tug in his gut when he imagined what his mom would say if she saw him in this place, amongst a student body that could only be described as manic. Maybe she'd be horrified, maybe she wouldn't care. Probably the latter. Franklin kicked the same pebble again and glanced up, finding himself in the middle of the courtyard, facing another building that was identical to the boys dormitory. It wasn't the building that made him stop and stare, however; it was the tall, lithe girl that suddenly came bursting out through the front doors, cradling the flickering flame of a lighter in her hand and shielding it against the wind.

Franklin stared at her as she came nearer, simply out of curiosity. Her hair was a dyed cherry red and curly, her skin dark and unblemished. When she finally raised her eyes and looked at him, Franklin nodded and smiled; expected a similar reaction or at least something like it. What he didn't expect was for her to freeze, cigarette smouldering between her lips, and then suddenly come at him, her face breaking into a deep scowl.

"What the _hell_ are you lookin' at, short-ass?"

Franklin didn't react at first, he stayed still. And then he shrugged. "Nothin'."

"Fucking nothing, huh? I know you, you're that new kid," the girl barked back, exhaling a cloud of smoke in his face. "You're new here, so you probably don't know how things work around here yet. So I'll tell you this for free: stare at me like that again, and I'll break your hands. Okay?"

"What the fuck? I wasn't starin' at you, I was just -- relax a second, damn."

The girl tilted her head to the side, like a wild animal about to strike. Franklin felt himself take a step back, and then, over the drumming in his ears, he also heard hurried footsteps coming from behind him. He turned and found himself staring at three guys sporting jeans instead of their school slacks. The biggest, a burly blond that Franklin recognized as the guy who'd dangled the kid from yesterday upside down, narrowed his eyes and growled. "This pipsqueak bothering you, Tess?"

The girl scoffed and took a long drag from her cigarette. "He wishes, Brad. Caught this creep hanging around the girls dorm," she gestured to the building behind her, "Tell me, Newbie, do you like hanging around the girls dorm? What are you, some kind of pervert?"

"Hold on a fuckin' minute," Franklin felt his temper flare. "I wasn't doin' shit and I ain't a pervert. I was just going for a walk, last I heard that wasn't a crime--"

The sound of cracking knuckles cut him off. The big blond guy - Brad, suddenly seized him by the cuff of his shirt and Franklin's stomach turned to water as he felt the power behind that arm. He felt like he was about to be launched into the air and thrown like a rag doll, but suddenly, he was saved by the arrival of a flushed, breathless Lamar Davis.

"Frank, man! What the hell is going on?"

Franklin shook himself out of Brad's grasp and hardened, turning to his roommate with a scowl. "I'm bein' harassed by these fuckin' maniacs--"

Lamar's eyes widened to ten times their size, and at precisely the same moment, Franklin felt Brad's hand on him again, only this time it was around his neck. He felt the ground disappear from underneath his feet as he was lifted up and held in the air. Below him, Tess calmly threw her cigarette on the ground and smiled maliciously. "What did you call us?"

"Fuck! T-Tess, he didn't mean it--"

"Shut up, Davis." The girl swivelled her dark eyes to Brad and when she nodded, Franklin was put back down again with a thud. His heart was slamming against his ribs and he clutched at his neck, coughing. Tess loomed over him. "You're new here, so I'm going to give you a break. But just this once. You cross the line again, you'll know about it."

Franklin said nothing, his throat felt like it had been crushed. Despite this, he glared up at the girl with every bit of aggression he could manage. The sudden shrill ring of the school bell interrupted any words he might have said. Tess took a step back and her three henchmen followed, coming to stand around her like bodyguards. Franklin felt Lamar's hand on his arm. "Come on, dog, we'll be late for class."

He let Lamar tug him slowly back towards the dormitories, but stopped when Tess called out to him again in a cool, quiet voice. "Hey Newbie," she said, "watch your fucking back."

 

* * *

 

 

"What the fuck were you thinkin', man?" Lamar asked him furiously. They were on their way to the first class of the day, Spanish, yet Franklin wanted to go back to bed and lock the door. He'd been humiliated, and by a  _girl_. He was thankful nobody else save Lamar had saw his run-in with Tess and her henchmen, because he'd never be able to live that down, and it was only his first day. 

"What are you talking about?"

"What am I -- dog, do you know who that  _was_ _?_ " Lamar let out a frustrated grunt at Franklin's blank expression. "I swear, man, I told you not to go messin' with anyone and first, day,  _boom_ , what do you fuckin' do? You get Tess fuckin' Williams on your ass."

"I didn't _do_ anything!"

"That don't matter! She's still gonna be out to get you, homie. Her clique - they the Bullies, Frank, the dumb bitches I told you about. Brad Snider, Stretch and that other guy, Eddie, man they all brawn and no brains. But Tess... Tess is someone you gotta watch out for, dog."

"I ain't afraid of any girl, Lamar. Jesus."

"She's not just any girl! She's.. she's  _the_ girl! She won't hesitate to kick yo ass if you made her mad, man, which is exactly what you went and fuckin' done! God, just stay out of their way from now on, okay?"

Franklin spent the majority of Spanish sitting in a surly silence. He was grateful Mrs. Madrazo didn't ask him to introduce himself to the class or talk at all, which made him wonder if his anger was visible on his face. It must have been, because when the bell rang again Lamar regarded him with a look of concern. 

"Be careful, Frank," he said. "I didn't mean to jump down your neck, but... look, Bullworth is like survival of the fittest, right? And I want you to survive, dog. So you gotta keep out of the bad peoples' way and keep your head down." He sighed. "I'll see you at lunch."

Franklin didn't see Tess again, or any of the Bullies for that matter. He tried to focus in his classes, and if that proved impossible, he managed to find a nice daydream to hide himself away in. The day dragged by in a haze of different classrooms that all seemed to blend into one by lunch. His eyes were heavy as he made his way down to the cafeteria, which was once again crowded and chaotic. He found Lamar at the Nerds table, and was swiftly introduced to Jay, Lester, Rickie and Paige. They seemed weary of him; undoubtedly Lamar had told them he pissed off that crazy girl. Only Lester spoke to him; he was a round, small boy with enormous glasses and a particularly severe case of acne. "I've been waiting for someone to stand up to Tess and her gaggle of idiots," he said. "Never thought it'd be a new kid that finally did."

"This place is nuts, man," Franklin replied. "You all live like prisoners, divided like gangs. I ain't never seen anything like it before."

Lester shrugged. "Bullworth Academy has a student body population of eight hundred, and I would correctly estimate that approximately seven-hundred-and-ninety of these are lunatics. This school is a cess pool for all that is wrong with society." He sighed. "I weep for the future."

After lunch was over, Lamar caught up to Franklin and greeted him with a wide grin. "We're gonna head into town tomorrow night to check out that new fair that arrived. You wanna tag along, homie?"

"Yeah, for sure. It's not like I got anything better to do."

"It's that kind of enthusiasm that will win you friends here, Frank," Lamar said sarcastically. Then he smiled. "Cool, homie. What you got now?"

Franklin had to dig into his backpack and fish out his schedule. "Shop," he said.

Lamar looked nervous. "At the auto shop," he said slowly. "Greaser turf. You need to be--"

"Careful, right. Relax, dog, I'll try not to pick any more fights today."

"Hmph. Real considerate of you, homie."

 

* * *

 

 

Ironically there were no leather jacket sporting Greasers in his shop class. The class was actually small, consisting only of Franklin, two Jocks, a couple Preppies and Rickie, one of Lamar's friends from his lunch table. The teacher, Mr. Yetarian, barked orders at them in a thick Armenian accent and then spent the rest of the class on his phone. Just five minutes into the class, Franklin discovered he liked Shop. He could move around freely, unrestricted by the usual classroom bullshit, and do his own thing. He also liked cars, had always been good with mechanics, and the time seemed to fly by unlike his other classes. A few minutes before the bell, Franklin was working in a productive quiet when he was tapped on the shoulder. 

He turned to find one of the Jocks standing there, an awkward smile on his face. "Uh, hey, sorry to bother you but I was wonderin' if you could help me and my buddy out?" He gestured to the other Jock, taller with a shock of black hair and the beginnings of a moustache, sitting with a frown at a station at the back of the room. "We can't figure out the wirin' for this assignment and you seem to know what you're doin', so..." he trailed off hopefully. 

Franklin slid off his stool. "Sure, man. No problem."

The guy grinned, and he almost looked surprised. "Thanks, man. I'm not really good with Shop, you know."

Franklin had their problem solved within a minute or two, much to the obvious irritation of the second Jock. The two of them were both very intimidating, but there was an odd kindness coming from the shorter one, the one that had asked for his help. When Franklin had finished and was wiping the oil off his hands, the same guy nodded at him and smiled. "You weren't in this class last year. You new?"

"Yeah. I got here yesterday."

"Transfer?"

"Uh, yeah. Something like that."

The bell rang. The taller Jock nudged his friend. "Michael, man, we gotta go. Practice."

"Chill out, Dave. We got time." He nodded at Franklin and smiled. "I'll see you around, kid. Thanks for the help."

Franklin headed out into the chilly evening air and met Lamar by the faculty parking lot. There had been no trouble from Tess since the incident this morning and Franklin had almost completely forgot about the whole thing. His Shop class had put him into a good mood, such a good mood that he actually agreed to let Lamar take him down to the football field and show him the observatory that was apparently his clique's pride and fucking joy. It was a cool place, but Franklin felt it didn't really have the same impact if you weren't into that stuff. He went instead to lean against the bleachers and watch the Bullhorns practice. He spotted Michael, the guy from his Shop class, tackling another guy to the ground. 

"You make out everyone to be psychopaths, Lamar," Franklin said when his friend rejoined him. "I was talkin' to that dude Michael in Shop, he cool as fuck."

"I told you, that dog alright, if you get him on a good day that is. Most of the time, he real fuckin' surly, man, walks around all depressed and shit. Dude's the quarterback, what the fuck do he got to worry about?"

After a while it grew too cold to stand there, so they grabbed their bags and made for the steps. As Franklin climbed up the bleachers, he couldn't help but notice a peculiar figure. A tall, skinny guy stood underneath the shadows of the bleachers nearest them, watching the practice while smoking a cigarette. All he could see was the smoke rising slowly from the bleachers and the guy's thin frame, totally still. As if he were hiding. 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another shorty, though they will get longer as the story spreads out and I get more patience, heh heh. :) I would love you forever if you commented/subscribed/kudosed, it is so important. Oh and the next chapter will definitely contain some good ol' townie!Trevor. Fuck yeah. 
> 
> Have a great day everybody!


	3. Troublemaker

 

Franklin slept in until noon the next morning, because it was Saturday, and he allowed himself to feel like he'd earned it. He lay with his head shoved under the pillow until Lamar came in and told him to get up. His roommate looked cheerful, grinning down at him in a baggy green t-shirt and tattered jeans, his enormous glasses hanging around his skinny neck on a gold chain; resembling some kind of nerdy rapper. "Ey man," he said, "How long do you plan on lyin' there? Drag your ass out of bed, we got places to be!"

Franklin yawned and stretched out underneath the covers. "We do?" he asked.

"Yeah man. Come on, we got a sweet setup in the observatory. Rickie got the new Righteous Slaughter game and I ain't missing my chance to destroy his ass." He rapped on Franklin's temples with his knuckles, chuckling. "Come _on_ , dog. You can sleep when you're in class."

Franklin swatted at him but gave in. He heaved his groggy body from the warmth of the squeaky mattress and grabbed a pair of jeans and a hoodie, shivering at the sound of the harsh wind battering the windows. Then he followed Lamar out of their room and into the dorm's living room, where they grabbed sodas from the vending machine. You didn't have to pay anything, the thing was so battered and broken all you had to do was kick the side of it and an ice-cold, fresh can of Sprunk came tumbling into the hatch. The dorm was pretty empty, Franklin figured most of the other students spent their whole Saturday in Bullworth town. He followed Lamar outside into the chilly air and they settled into a comfortable pace. The observatory and adjacent football field were on the other side of the campus; to get there, you had to walk all the way around the school building and then take a left and go past the Preppies accommodation, Harrington House. Franklin noticed a short cut through the parking lot, but Lamar shook his head when he suggested it.

"That's the Bullies turf," was all he offered as an explanation, and Franklin couldn't help but be annoyed. Why were people living in fear of some bitch and her clownish minions? 

When they passed Harrington House, Franklin slowed his pace and regarded the imposing building with interest. It was noticeably cleaner than any of the other buildings on campus; an enormous four-storey structure flanked by two large gardens, both overflowing with rose bushes, tulips, cherry and beech trees. A tidy gravel path snaked up to the heavy-set front doors, and right in the middle of the courtyard sat a beautiful marble fountain with a centrepiece shaped like a dolphin. 

Lamar saw him looking and scoffed. "Weston gives them all the funding," he told Franklin, sounding more amused than annoyed. "I mean, ain't like he has a choice anyway. All them Preppies? Their parents make up the school board."

"You ever been inside?"

"Fuck no. That'd be like infiltratin' the motherfuckin' Pentagon, Frank," Lamar shot back. "You get as far as that fountain and you get jumped by Steve Haines. Motherfucker can smell the poverty on a dude." Then he started laughing. "It's cool, though. They always get the shit egged out of 'em on Halloween."

Franklin laughed. "You better remind me then, man, so I get first throw."

"So you stayin' then? You ain't gonna try and get tossed out?"

Franklin shrugged. Yesterday after dinner he'd told Lamar about his record of being kicked out of every school he'd been enrolled in. "I guess so, man. I don't really have a choice. And, anyways, seein' the kind of people that go here..." he let out a chuckle. "...Seems like you gotta do some serious shit to get expelled."

"Yeah, you're right about that."

The top of the gym began to come into view as they walked on, and as they got nearer, so did the figures of two familiar people. 

Franklin felt Lamar stiffen beside him. "Shit, Frank," he whispered, "let's just jump the fence back there and go down the hill to get to the observatory, man."

Franklin shot him a glare. "Man, are you serious?"

"Don't be stirrin' shit, Frank. Come on, dog, let's turn back."

"I'm not gonna climb any fuckin' fence just 'cos some dickheads think I should." He grabbed Lamar's elbow and gave it a hard tug. "Come on, it'll be fine. You scare easy, man."

A few feet away, two of the guys from Tess's group were towering over that wimpy kid with the reddish hair. There was the tall blond with the perpetual frown - Brad, Franklin remembered - as well as a shorter boy, the same one that he'd seen putting out his cigarettes on the dorm wallpaper. The kid was shaking, his face a mixture of green and gray. Brad was laughing. 

"What's the matter, Floyd? Aww, are you gonna piss your pants again?" He chuckled and turned to the shorter guy, his eyes glinting with malicious amusement. "Hey Stretch, remember when Floyd pissed his pants in the cafeteria last year?"

"I remember, man, that shit was  _hil-ar-ious_. Fuck, Floyd, I woulda thought Mommy would have housetrained you by now."

"J-Just shut up! Sh- leave me alone, I-I-"

"You what?" The shorter guy, Stretch, suddenly raised himself up to his full height and puffed out his chest. "What the hell are you gonna do?"

"I-I.. I want--" The kid's bottom lip wobbled, which was about the point Franklin couldn't take much more. 

He swore he heard Lamar's heart jump out of his chest when he turned and marched up to Brad and Stretch. "Hey!"

They whirled. It was Brad who spoke first, a smirk spreading across his lips as he exchanged an amused glance with his friend. "Look who it is, Stretch. It's that pervert that was creepin' on Tess yesterday."

Franklin let the comment slide, opting instead to square his shoulders and dig his eyes into Brad's. "Leave the kid alone."

Brad's eyebrows raised. He sent a mocking glance back to the cowering boy behind him. "Is this your boyfriend, Floyd?"

"You must of not heard me right," Franklin said with a growl, "or else you don't understand English, which I wouldn't be surprised about with that dopey look on your face, so I'll ask you one more time." His fists clenched. "Leave the kid alone."

"Oh hell no," Stretch took a step forwards, his eyes dangerous. "What are you? Twelve? You ain't got no respect. Didn't Tess tell you to watch yourself, new kid?"

"I don't care what that bitch said or didn't say. I'm not scared of some dumbasses who only pick on little kids to make themselves look tough. That ain't tough, that's weak."

"Frank!" Lamar's voice was urgent behind him. "Just drop it, dog, come on."

"Yeah, Frank," Stretch said sarcastically, "listen to that lanky sonofabitch. Get the fuck out of here before I flatten you into the damn ground." His face was just inches from Franklin's now, and his eyes were blazing with menace. Real, angry dangerous menace, his nostrils were even flaring. But Franklin had had enough of him. He lifted his head and bored his eyes into the other boy's skull. 

"I'd like to see you try."

There was a beat of silence. And then, just as Franklin prepared to swing, there was a gruff shout from nearby. 

"Excuse me, boys? Do we have a problem here?"

Stretch jumped back as if Franklin had electrocuted him. "No, Mr. Weston, sir." He turned his gaze back on Franklin, the anger still there, tucked away in the back. "No problem at all."

Principal Weston came sauntering over with a frown, looking from Franklin to Stretch to Brad, before settling his gaze on Floyd, who now looked as if he was about to pass out. "Are you alright, Hebert?" he asked. 

"Y-Yes, sir. Just.. just fine." Floyd stammered. 

"Well, run along then. And go to the nurse's station," he added, just as Floyd had turned on his heel. "You look like you're going to puke. And that's a twenty dollar fine on school property." After he had gone, Weston folded his arms and studied Franklin's face carefully. "Have you got somewhere to be, Mr. Clinton?"

Lamar cut in, "Yeah, yeah we do. And we're gonna be late. See you, Mr. Weston." He seized Franklin by the sleeve of his hoodie and yanked. He waited until they had bounded down the first set of steps on the football field bleachers before he stopped and turned Franklin around hard. "What the  _hell_ was that, you crazy motherfucker? Didn't I tell you--"

"That little kid gets fuckin' terrorized, I see him around the dorm," Franklin interrupted with a scowl. "And seeing those two pricks, I just - I don't know, man, I just want to beat their asses."

"Fucking  _don't_!" Lamar snapped. "You startin' shit now, homie, you startin' it and once you do, there is no going back. They gonna tell Tess what you said to 'em, that you were pickin' fights."

"I could give two shits, dog. Let 'em do what they want, but I am not gonna just walk past a little kid gettin' terrorized, Lamar. That ain't right."

"You startin' shit, I can't believe it."

Franklin snorted. "Yeah, thanks for having my back too, man. You real dependable."

"Do you _know_ what clique I'm in?" Lamar said fiercely. "I know that I said brain power is some Jedi-powerful shit, homie, but brain power don't protect your ass against a goddamn disembowelment from Brad Snider."

"Whatever, man. Let's just go to the observatory."

"You never gonna learn, Frank."

 

* * *

 

 

The observatory had a small rec room much like the dorm, complete with an air hockey table, television set, a couple threadbare couches and an old games console. Lester was the only one who looked up when Franklin and Lamar entered; the others were engrossed in the game. 

"You're late," he said softly. "The Righteous Slaughter championship started ten minutes ago."

Lamar scoffed. "We would have made it, except Chuck Norris here picked a goddamn fight with Brad Snider and Stretch Joseph."

That made everyone else snap their heads to look at them. Franklin rolled his eyes and collapsed next to Rickie, who was staring at him with wide, astonished eyes, his fingers paused on his controller. 

Franklin frowned. "Could you blink? You're creepin' me out."

"You picked a fight with Brad and Stretch?" Rickie asked, stunned. "That's... you got balls, bro."

"They didn't hit you?" Paige asked with surprise.

Franklin shook his head. "Weston arrived before  _I_ could hit  _them_." Lamar snorted, but Franklin ignored him. "What is with those pricks? What is with  _everyone_ at this school? Y'all got issues, I'm sorry."

"I told you," Lester sighed, coming back to his seat. "Cess pool."

"When I get out of here and start my own company," Jay said suddenly, "I'll make them all my slaves. I swear, I will." He turned his eyes back to the screen and yelled. "Shit! Paige! Get back here, I'm gettin' creamed!"

The next few minutes were filled with the furious clicking of buttons and muttered curses as someone's character had it's head torn off or was torn apart by a grenade. Franklin played along but wasn't really paying attention. He was still fuming, his blood hot in his veins, adrenalin pumping. He knew it probably was a dumb move, but he had never been the type of person to let someone order him around and walk all over him. Hence his almost non-existent relationship with his aunt. After witnessing his character get KO'd for the umpteenth time, he set his controller down and stole a glance at Lamar.

"What you so pissy for? They don't have it out for you."

"They have it out for everyone, man. And by  _association_ with you, they now got it out for me like, ten times as hard."

"Will you relax? They won't do shit, they all talk."

"Maybe they won't, but you're gonna attract a bad repuation, homie. And when you do, you'll have the Greasers on your ass, or the Jocks. Around here, nobody likes anyone bein' out of their place, Frank. If you start actin' up, they gonna come down on you real hard."

"I'm so terrified," Franklin muttered sarcastically, more to himself than Lamar. 

Lamar nudged him. "You know I got Apache blood in me? If I wanted to, I could do damage.  _Serious_ bodily harm, man. But I choose not to, I  _abstain_. 'Cos I know, at the end of the damn day, the only power I need is the power in my god damn  _brain_ , man."

"Amen, bro!" Rickie cheered.

Franklin exhaled slowly. "It's gonna be a long fuckin' year."

 

* * *

 

 

The rest of the day passed without incident. By the time the sky had darkened, the wind had let up and it wasn't as cold, so Franklin left his hoodie behind when they all headed towards Bullworth town. It was only a five-minute walk, something Lester was thrilled about as, by the time they had reached the town centre, he was wheezing and clutching his inhaler against his chest like it was his lifeline. Bullworth town was exactly as Franklin had pictured: a little run-down, cramped, bleak, crowded with teenagers and stressed-looking adults. The main street didn't have much; just a tiny grocery store, a second-hand bookstore, a crusty old bakery and a movie theatre which Lamar complained about as only ever showing the same three movies. The streets were lined by tall apartment blocks, little stores and the odd newspaper stand. It seemed like a decent place to live, despite the heavy stench of gasoline and asphalt, and the constant feeling you were about to get mugged. Franklin had grown up in several places worse than this, so to him it was almost a haven. 

The fair became visible after turning off the main street, down towards the beach that Paige said was more rock than sand. The lights made Franklin feel cheerful and excited, happy to be out of that claustrophobic dorm. The neon lights - acid green, hot pink, lemon yellow and electric blue made the night seem warmer, the big Ferris wheel making Franklin nostalgic. As they got to the ticket vendor, the air became heavy with the scent of hot dogs and roasted peanuts, and the noise levels began to rise. Screaming, the waltzy fair music, laughter, the rapid  _rush_ of a rollercoaster as it sped by noisily on tracks above their heads; Franklin smiled and drank it all in with enthusiasm as he followed the others further in. 

Rickie was snorting. "Remember when Lamar nearly shat himself after going on the Hyper Speed Rollercoaster last time? Bro, that was  _so_ funny--"

"I don't know what you're talking about," Lamar mumbled, making them all laugh. He swivelled around and scowled. "I mean it, you assholes! Fuck, where is that damn ride, I'll go on it right fuckin' now, man."

"I'll go," Franklin said, grinning. "Just to see you void your bowels."

"Seconded!" Jay yelled. "We'll all go. Paige, get your phone out. We might need photographic evidence."

Lamar sniffed. "Man, fuck y'all."

Lamar didn't shit himself. But, he did puke. Violently. He staggered away to the bathrooms with the others while Franklin hung back with Lester. Above them, the Ferris wheel turned slowly in the night air, a kaleidoscope of colors that Franklin couldn't tear his eyes away from. 

"I've been waiting for someone to stand up to Snider and Johnson," Lester said suddenly. "Never thought it'd be a new kid."

"Nobody's ever told them where to put it before, man?"

"No. Nobody's done it and _lived_ , anyway." Lester smirked. "Between you and me, I think it's about time someone started challenging the way things work around here."

Franklin let the words sink in. "How would that happen?"

Lester shrugged. "Obvious, really. You take down the main players. At least, that's what I'd do. Get the respect of a clique leader and you automatically got the clique. Some would be harder than others, but it's feasible. You got Tess Williams, Steve Haines, Johnny Klebitz, Michael Townley... win 'em all over, you got yourself a new kind of school."

Franklin observed the multi-colored lights of a nearby games stand and thought. "Like risin' up through the ranks," he said.

Lester nodded. "Pretty much."

Franklin opened his mouth to speak again, to ask another question or just wonder aloud, but before he could even part his lips, a shadow had descended across their corner of the fair and he found they had been joined by a gang of five youths. Lester had paled. 

"Well, well,  _well_ ," a new voice broke the silence, rooted in dark laughter. "If it isn't Lester The Molester!"

Lester's ears went pink. "That was never proved."

Franklin raised his eyes. The voice belonged to a tall, thin young man with a head of wild, unkempt dark hair and dark eyes that looked black in the shadows. The stranger crossed his arms over a loose orange vest and grinned. "Whatcha doin', Lest?"

"Nothing, Trevor," it was almost a sigh, almost, had Franklin not detected an agitated nervousness in his tone. 

Someone else from the newcomers' group suddenly spoke, a country-twang dripping with impatience. "Tre- _vor_ ," it whined. The voice belonged to a short teenage boy with matted dreadlocks and a face-full of piercings. "You said we was gonna go on the big wheel!"

The taller guy - Trevor - snarled and whirled around. Franklin noticed that when he did so, the people in his group flinched. "Wade!" he growled, "One more word and I'll _throw you_ off the fuckin' big wheel!" He turned back to Lester and smiled without any humour. Then, his eyes landed on Franklin. "Who the fuck are you?"

Franklin frowned. It was strange; if this had been Brad or Stretch, he'd have been enraged by the tone of voice taken and probably balled his fists. Except there was something overwhelmingly intimidating about this guy - be it the pattern of scars or red blotches dusting his skin from some obvious form of drug use, to the black smudges underneath his eyes. Something told him to be careful. "I'm, uh, Franklin." He studied Trevor's rugged face a bit more closely, and he couldn't help but ask, "Hey, you look familiar, man. Do I know you?"

Trevor stared at him. He looked irked. "You go to Bullworth?" he finally asked. 

"Yeah - do you?"

He laughed shrilly. "I'd rather get  _shot in the face_ then go there."

Lester cleared his throat awkwardly. "Um, let's go and find the others, Franklin--"

Trevor's hand shot out just as Lester moved, stopping him in his tracks. Trevor's smile was predatorial. "Not so fast, Lester Molester. What you got in your pockets?"

"I don't--"

Franklin watched as a flash of pure rage illuminated Trevor's face like a bolt of lightning. " _EMPTY 'em!_ " he shouted. 

Lester jerked to action, pulled out a wad of fives and tens with flustered, fumbling hands. Trevor reached out, but Franklin felt something in him snap.

"Hey, back off!"

Pause. Trevor didn't react at first, and then, everything happened very fast. Franklin was being pinned against the back of a stall with Trevor's rough hand around his neck.

"Back  _off_? Aren't we very fucking  _brave_?" he spat. "Why don't you try saying that again with my foot up your ass?"

"I don't want any trouble," Franklin breathed. "We'll get out of here. Lay off."

"Are you ordering me around, fuckface? I think that was an _order_ , eh Ron?" A scrawny kid behind him nodded once and then looked quickly away. Trevor gave one hard push against Franklin's throat and then released, his face thunderous. "I'll teach you a fuckin' lesson in manners, you little shit!"

Franklin reacted. He pushed out and gave Trevor's chest a hard shove, sending the man staggering backwards. There was silence again, nobody reacted for several moments except for Lester, who was now sucking on his inhaler for dear life, eyes wide behind his enormous glasses. Trevor stood panting, his fists clenched at his sides, face flushed. Suddenly, Lamar and the others arrived. Lamar gave an audible gasp.

"Oh! H-Hey, Trevor! What's up--"

"You," Trevor breathed, eyes focused on Franklin. "You _little shit_."

Franklin could feel his heart slamming hard against his ribs. 

"I could kill you," Trevor went on. "I could kill you right here, right now. I could. _But_ ," he exhaled. "I won't." He dropped his hands, uncurled his fingers, and then, much to Franklin's astonishment, he smiled. "I respect a kid who stands up for himself, despite the fact he's five foot fuckin' nothin' with absolutely no threatening presence whatsoever. You got potential, I see it. I fuckin' _see it_... Franklin, was it?"

Franklin nodded slowly.

"I think," Trevor grinned, "you and me are gonna be very good friends."

 

* * *

 

 

"I'm not leavin' the fuckin' dorm anymore, man, I swear." Lamar sat hunched over a textbook on his bed, shaking his head and rocking himself as if he was in the middle of an episode. "If you ain't pissin' off psychos, you're makin'  _friends_ with 'em. I can't believe this shit."

Franklin watched him from his own bed, an eyebrow raised. "Who was that guy?"

"Who is he?  _Who is he_?" Lamar sat bolt upright. " _The Devil_. That's who that motherfucker was. He's a homicidal maniac. He's a fuckin' hurricane. He's.. he's everything that's bad in the damn world and you're all buddy-buddy with him!"

That wasn't true. Right after Trevor released Franklin from his death grip, he'd just said goodbye and left, disappearing off into the night with his pack of followers. And still, Lamar was flipping out. 

"Is he that Townie guy?"

"Yeah, he is. The Townies are bad news, Frank. They're all fuckin' loco, but especially him, man,  _especially_ \--" he broke off, sighed, and fell back against the pillows. "Fuck my life. We're dead, we're all dead."

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh Trevor, how I love you.  
> I hope you enjoyed this one - thank you so much for all the comments/kudos, it's keeping the evil writer's block at bay. It's so much fun to write this, so I'm glad people seem to be enjoying it :]  
> The next update shouldn't be too far away.


	4. Boiling Point

 

Franklin had Gym first thing on Monday morning. It was led by Coach Quinn, a willowy woman with large, manic eyes and a perpetual look of rage. When Franklin and the others trooped into the gym she was waiting for them, a silver whistle glinting between her lips, her hands on her bony hips. She gave the whistle a forceful, harsh blow that rattled Franklin's bones and stayed ringing in his ears long after she let it drop to dangle around her neck.

"Listen up, you little brats!" Her voice was a hoarse scream. "I want a _real_ work-out today, I want you to  _cry_ , I want you to  _bleed_ , I want you to hate yourselves!" She bent low and scooped up a ball from the basket at her side. She leaned forward, pulled her arm all the way back, and then sent the ball hurtling into the stomach of Floyd Hebert, who immediately fell to his knees and spluttered in pain. Coach Quinn shrieked at him, "Take it like a man, Hebert! This is  _dodgeball_."

Franklin reached down and pulled Floyd back up by the sleeve of his t-shirt. "You okay, homie?"

Floyd blinked at him tearfully, but said nothing, just shrank away in fear and hid behind one of the bigger kids. He had become weary of Franklin over the weekend, probably thinking that any time he was around him, he was likely to be descended upon by Big Brad Snider and his iron fists. Franklin shook his head and sighed, falling into line with the rest of the class as Coach Quinn picked teams. It was only then that he realized Tess Williams, the cherry-haired aggressor, was in this class. 

She stood behind him in the line, a cool smile playing on her lips. "Newbie," she said softly. "You survived the weekend, I see."

"Man, fuck you."

"Fuck  _you_. I heard what happened near the football field, you threatened my _friends_. I don't take that lightly, asshole."

Franklin opened his mouth to respond but was cut off by Coach Quinn. "Clinton! I want you on Team 2; you're short, they'll need a _running target_."

Tess's laugh made his blood boil. "I think you're needed, pipsqueak." 

He growled under his breath and stomped across the squeaky rubber floor to join the second team, and stayed standing there with his fists balled up until Coach Quinn blew her whistle again and both teams had to go to opposite sides of the gym, a line of dodgeballs separating them.  Franklin scanned the opposite team and found Tess easily; her bright hair lit by the early morning sunlight. Coach Quinn put the whistle to her lips again and they all bent low. Franklin hooked Tess's gaze and held it, trying to send every bit of anger and loathing he felt for her across the room and into her stupid face. Tess just grinned, winked, and at the burst of the whistle, shot forward; getting her hands onto a ball within three seconds. 

Franklin was just as fast. He ducked as her ball went soaring over his head and hit the back wall with a bang, sending his hurtling her way. It missed, and he cursed. The gym became a chaos of squeaking, grunting and banging as people and balls hit the ground, the walls, fell against each other. After just a few minutes, Franklin was sweating, his heart slamming hard against his ribs and his blood pumping. A lot of kids had been knocked out and now sat on the bench nursing bruises and scrapes. Floyd, unsurprisingly, sat snivelling with his head tipped back, a tissue held against his nostrils to stem the flow of blood brought on by an impressive and very athletic throw by one of the Greasers. Coach Quinn was screeching at the sidelines. 

"You're not killing each other!" she was saying, "What I need for you to is to kill each other!"

Within minutes almost all of Team 2 had been eliminated, and it was suddenly Franklin against Tess and two Greasers. He got rid of the latter quickly with two, carefully-executed throws to the crotch for both of them. Tess was harder; Tess was fast. She darted around her section of the court, elegantly slipping out of the way as Franklin's passes came flying at her. Franklin made the mistake of turning his back to her. In a split-second, a ball hit him with a solid, powerful impact at the base of his spine, leaving the skin stinging. He took a deep breath, and when he exhaled, it was hot and furious. 

"Victory to Team 1," Coach Quinn announced, "Team 2, you're  _losers_. Literally!"

"Tough shit, Clinton," Tess sniggered, strolling towards him. "But there's always next time."

"Yo, what the fuck is your problem?"

" _You_ are my problem. I don't like arrogant new kids who saunter in here and expect everybody to respect them. You _earn_ respect, Newbie. And right now? You're the bottom of the food chain."

Franklin snarled. "You don't get respect by _beating on_ people either," he said fiercely, "You need to reign in them dogs of yours, girl, or else."

"Or else what?" she scoffed. "You're going to fight a girl, Clinton?"

"No, I ain't like you. I don't beat on people to make people think I'm tough." 

Tess's jaw clenched. "I tried to warn you, Newbie," she said. "But now you got it coming, you really do." She turned on her heel and marched away. 

 

* * *

 

 

 

For the rest of the morning, Franklin fought the urge to kick something. He drummed his fingers on his knee for the duration of English and, by the time he got to Chemistry, it felt like steam was rising off him in slow, lazy spirals. Lamar regarded him with a look of concern when he joined him at their lab station. His roommate had just come from one of his AP classes and had an avalanche of books spilling out of his backpack. 

"Someone piss in your cereal this mornin', homie?" Lamar asked him. Then he paused. "Dog I wouldn't even be surprised. Johnny Klebitz was lookin' real shady earlier."

"It wasn't him, it was Tess Williams--"

" _Tess_ pissed in your cereal? _Dog_ \--"

"What? _No_ , you crazy motherfucker! She just irritatin' me. Beating on kids, actin' all superior..."

"That's just the way it is here, Frank. The way it's always been. We all got our cliques, we got our friends. Ain't no need to go messin' with anyone else, not unless you want a beat down."

Franklin stayed quiet for the rest of the class. Lamar seemed to know what he was doing with the beaker of fizzy red liquid they were supposed to be working on, so Franklin let him get on with it, and sat in silent thought until the bell rang for lunch. The class scrambled to escape the heavy fumes now wafting through the lab, and once they were out in the hallway, Lamar nudged Franklin to get his attention.

"Look man," he said, "when I get pissy, the best medicine is to whoop the pasty ass of Lester Crest on Righteous Slaughter..."

Franklin smiled, his first real one that day. "Yeah, okay man. I'll meet you by the observatory at five."

"For sure, homie. All you need is some nice digital violence to cool your ass off."

 

* * *

 

 

That afternoon was surprisingly warm. The air was gentle as it brushed over the bare skin of Franklin's face and neck as he leaned against the bleachers on the football field, watching the Bullhorns go about their rigorous practice in the fading, pink-tinted light.  Nearby, the cheerleaders were going through an equally gruelling routine. The atmosphere was surprisingly peaceful after such a hectic morning, and Franklin found himself relieved that the day was almost over. He had spent much of the day looking over his shoulder, expecting Tess to jump out of a locker and swing a baseball bat at his head. Lamar told him he was being stupid, but damn, that girl scared him. In fact, this whole  _school_ scared him. He faintly recalled how life at his other schools had been; as awful as they had been, nothing compared to Bullworth Academy and his psychotic student body. The hierarchy of cliques, the ever-present tension between each one, the feeling that, at any moment, total anarchy could break out. Franklin toed his shoe along the grass and sniffed. If he made it out of this place alive, or still mentally stable, it would be a damn miracle. 

He checked his watch. It was almost five fifteen; Lamar was late. Franklin sank down onto one of the seats and watched a wispy cloud pass by overhead. He chased it all the way to the other side of the sky, until it disappeared completely. He checked his watch again - five twenty-five. Where was that lanky idiot?

"Franklin!"

He stood up and turned around to see Lester hurrying towards him, his usual limp in full force. His face was drained of all color. He'd been running. A prickle of alarm shuddered up Franklin's spine. "Lester! What's up?"

"Lamar," he said breathlessly, reaching into his breast pocket and pulling out his inhaler. "He ran into some trouble on the way here, I found him when I was coming out of the library."

"Trouble? What kind of trouble?"

"You'll see for yourself. He's gone back to your room."

 

* * *

 

 

Lamar wasn't in the room. When Franklin entered the dormitory, he instantly spotted the back of his roommate's head as Lamar sat on the couch. There was a small group around him, all of them staring at something and talking in rapid, hushed voices. Franklin felt something twist in his gut as he marched over.

"Lamar."

He jumped. "O-Oh! What's up, homie?" He laughed nervously and looked away. "Sorry I couldn't make it, I uh, had a thing."

"If your face swells up some more, could I take a few pictures for the school paper?" A boy in a back-to-front cap and baggy cargo shorts was leaning in close to Lamar, peering closely at something Franklin couldn't see. "That'd make the front page, man! I mean, fuck, people might actually  _buy_ the school paper--"

"We have a school paper?" asked someone else dubiously.

Lamar flinched. "I wanna talk to Frank, you leeches, get outta here. And fuck no, Beverly, you ain't takin' no pictures."

The boy in the cap sighed, but left with the other boys nonetheless, shuffling down the hall and out of sight. Lamar lifted his head and met Franklin's gaze.

Franklin felt hot, boiling anger surge up inside him for the second time that day. "Fuck! What the hell happened to you?"

"I got jumped," Lamar said miserably. "Ain't no big deal, homie. Happens all the time."

Lamar's lip was split and swollen. His nostrils were crusted in dried blood and both of his eyes were also swollen, one almost completely closed due to red puffiness. He tried to smile, but automatically winced. His school sweater vest was torn at the collar and his shirt sleeves were stained with mud and dirt. Finally, his glasses sat on top of his head, cracked and broken. He was almost unrecognizable. Franklin sank down onto the couch next to him, mouth hanging open in shock.

"Who? Was it Tess?"

"No, man. It was - it was those guys," he said quietly. "Brad and Stretch."

Franklin crushed his teeth together. "Those pricks," he growled. "I'm gonna grind them into the fuckin' dirt. Those _motherfuckers!_   Where are they? Where's--" he broke off. He paused, he thought. He remembered, and felt a ice-cold lurch in his stomach. "It was her," he said. Lamar looked at him strangely. 

"What?"

"Her. Tess. She threatened me earlier. She - man, she sent those motherfuckers after you!"

Lamar glanced down at his hands. They were peppered with scrapes. "Are you sure, dog? I know she scary as hell and all but, you know, I never actually seen her beat on anyone..."

"She gets those dumb assholes to do it for her, that's why." Franklin scrubbed a hand over his face. "I fuckin' - where is she? Where do those motherfuckers hang out?"

Lamar gaped at him. "You aren't gonna go after 'em, are you? Brad's ten times your size, Frank, and Stretch a mean motherfucker."

"I'm not gonna fight them."

"Wh- you aren't?"

"No. I told that bitch this morning: I don't beat on people to get fuckin' respect."

"What do you do?"

He exhaled. "I get _even_. But first," he looked at his roommate, "Where can I find Tess?"

 

* * *

 

 

The sky was navy-blue and darkening by the minute when Franklin made his way across the staff parking lot, now mostly empty save for the teachers that stayed on campus. He squared his shoulders and stiffened against the breeze as he walked, expecting to see a gang of Bullies gathered at the back of the lot. Instead, he only saw Tess, smoking a cigarette whilst simultaneously punching buttons on her phone. At the sight of her, his stomach turned over and fury bubbled inside him like a volcano ready to erupt. He narrowed his eyes at her, coming to a stop a few feet away.

"Hey."

She raised her head and blinked a few times, as if waking up from a dream. She actually looked surprised, like she hadn't thought he'd come. "Newbie," she said. "Can I help--"

"Tomorrow night," Franklin interrupted her sharply, "you and me. The Old Bullworth Vale side of town, eight o'clock sharp."

She stared at him blankly. He scowled.

"A race," he told her, "a bike race. If I win, I want you to stop picking on people who don’t deserve it. There are people in this school that need the shit kicked out of ‘em, and you’re picking on the ones that don’t.”

Silence, nothing except for the sound of his own heavy breathing. Tess blinked. "And if I win?" she asked.

"You can kick my ass. In front of everyone, I won't fight back."

"You're a weird kid, Clinton," Tess replied, her eyebrows furrowed. "Why are you doing this?"

"You know why."

Tess looked at a loss. It infuriated him. 

"Eight o'clock," he repeated. He could feel her still staring after him as he walked away. 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ms. Quinn is GTA V's Mary-Ann, hopefully that was clear. I feel bad for those kids, dude.  
> The next chapter will definitely be longer, hence why this one is so short. I have up to chapter seven planned out, so updates shouldn't take too long. :) This story is proving super fun to write, and I hope it's as enjoyable to read. Thank you to everyone who has commented/kudosed, you're way cooler than I am and I love you dearly. And the next chapter also sees the return of Trevor.. ;) 
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this one! :)


	5. The Race

Everybody in Bullworth knew that Franklin Clinton was racing Tess Williams tonight down by Old Bullworth Vale.

The result of this was that the various people in his classes now seemed to notice him when he walked in and sat down, turned around to gawk at him if he was asked a question or shifted in his seat. They whispered more than usually did when he walked by, nodded at him and mumbled things to their friends. Some even talked to him today. In Chemistry, a freckled kid with thick glasses asked him if 'racing Tess Williams' was actually code for 'beating up Tess Williams', so that Principal Weston wouldn't be alarmed. Franklin had cursed, "Jesus, no! It's a race!" and swatted the kid away like an annoying fly.

Since the moment he woke up, he'd felt anxious and agitated, wondering if this was a mistake. He didn't know the track well enough to win. It had been an impulse, a blind infuriated impulse challenging Tess to a race that he was now most definitely going to lose. The Vale was a maze of dirt tracks and hills, unlit by even a single street lamp, nothing but darkness and clusters of trees. By noon, Franklin had worked himself up into such a frustration that Lamar made them both skip lunch so that they could go into town and walk the entire length of the track.

"I get beat up all the time, Frank," Lamar said to him once they got there. "Comes with bein' a smart motherfucker in a school of idiots. You didn't need to challenge Tess to any damn thing."

"This ain't about you," Frank retorted, and, upon seeing Lamar's crestfallen expression, "I mean, it is, but it ain't just you. It's about every other kid in this place who's ever been fucked over by that bitch and her gorillas."

"But homie, you lose this race and you gonna get your ass kicked by a girl in front of everybody." "But if I win, she ain't ever gonna kick anyone else's ass again." He sighed. "You so used to people being assholes, man, you don't even remember what it's like to have a fucker be civil to you."

"So this is all part of yo' plan, huh?" Lamar asked. His eye had gone from blotchy purple to pale yellow, and though he looked much better than he had yesterday, people were still doing double takes when he passed by them, steps lilting slightly to the left as a result of Stretch kicking the fuck out of his leg.

"What plan?" "I know you plannin' on taking over the school or some shit; you wanna become King Franklin and have people serve you fuckin' iced tea on your way to class."

"You're crazy, homie," said Franklin. "I just want to give those Bullies a taste of their own medicine, dog. That's all."

They carried on in quiet silence for the next while. In the light, the track was easy to follow, a dusty and time-beaten dirt trail that twisted up a hill and proceeded to wrap around it like a vine. The two of them ascended the hill, finding themselves in a wood-like area bursting with pine trees and wildflowers. The air smelt of soapy earth and rain and underneath their feet, the track soon separated. One way headed towards higher hills, the other stretched out slow and smooth, going down a steep slope at the end to reach the other side of The Vale. Franklin could hear the rustling of rabbits in the foliage, birds in the trees. He didn't feel like going back to school. He wanted to stay here and commit the track to memory; follow every single pathway and turn-off until it was as familiar to him as the lines on his hands.

"Hey Frank, I've been wonderin' man... where you like this at your other schools?" Lamar asked him once they had bounded down the slope, spewing up dust and sand. "All protective of the little people and shit?"

Franklin thought. "No," he said. "Because they might have been bad, but the other hellholes that I went to still weren't as fucked-up as this place, dog."

"I thought as much, homie. Well," he turned and smiled. "Maybe it's good that someone wants to change things, you know what I'm sayin'? It's just," he broke off and laughed, "Dog, a world where I don't get the shit kicked out of me at least twice a semester...? That sounds like a damn miracle, Frank."

"I'm workin' on it, homie, don't worry."

 

* * *

 

The rest of the day seemed to pass much too quickly. Franklin went to the rest of his classes, endured the whispering, stares and occasional questions until it felt like his head was going to burst. By the time darkness had fallen over Bullworth Academy and it was time to leave, his stomach was in knots. He changed into sneakers and sat watching the moon, skinny and crescent-shaped, drift across the sky. After a while, Lamar came in and gave him a pat on the back. "Show time, my dude," he said. The campus was quiet and moonlit as the two of them made their way to the front gates and out onto the road. There, Lamar stopped him.

"You're usin' my bike, okay?" he told him, wheeling a black-and-blue sports mountain bike out from the shadows, where it had been resting against the wall. "So don't fuck it up, if you'd be so kind, dog."

"I won't, man. Thank you." Franklin held onto the steering bars tightly as they walked, the two of them bathed in silence except for the ticking of the spokes. It was freezing out, their breath forming clouds in front of their mouths, the brutal wind raising goose bumps on their skin. Franklin was not afraid, he was just anxious. Anxious that he would regret this, and be made a laughing stock in front of a school of lunatics and humiliated by the person he loathed the most. But he had to do this, there was no backing out. Old

Bullworth Vale had once been the centre of town years and years ago, but as time passed as the town expanded, it got pushed to the very edge as newer, more modern buildings and apartment blocks shot up in Bullworth's main street. The Vale was mostly tiny stores covered in spray-paint, blacked out semi-detached houses, narrow little alleyways and occasionally a drunk, violent homeless man. Perhaps that should have been a sign telling Franklin this had all been a very bad idea - but he ignored his gut feeling and stuck close to Lamar, the two of them weaving through the same alley that they gone down earlier; though at night, it was significantly creepier. Finally, they came to the start of the track and found a huge crowd waiting for them. Franklin recognized a few people - Lester and the rest of his clique, that kid Beverly with the backwards cap, two Greasers from his Math class. But, after that, Franklin didn't know anybody else. He couldn't believe it - upon his arrival, the crowd of loud students turned and stared at him. Some smiled, but most didn't. Franklin swallowed.

"Fuck, dog. Word gets around fast."

"They probably can't believe a new kid is takin' on Tess fuckin' Williams," Lamar replied. He waved to Lester. "I'm gonna go over there and keep out of her way, though. Good luck, Frank, you're gonna kill it."

Franklin watched him disappear into the crowd and began to feel out of his depth. He wheeled Lamar's bike across the crunchy dirt, ticking all the way, and people stepped away to let him through. When the crowd had parted enough, Franklin saw Tess standing with her arms folded beside a bike in significant better condition than Lamar's. His throat went dry but he raised his chin and held it there as he made his way towards her. She looked cold and irritated, her hair pulled back into a ponytail while the rest of her was in black. The crowd went quiet after she spoke. "Newbie, you're late."

"Whatever, girl. Let's just do this." He swung a leg over the bike and climbed onto the seat. The handlebars were like ice.

Tess scoffed, as if bored by this whole thing, as he got up onto her own bike. "Remember the terms," she told him sternly, a slight glint in her eye. "I win, I kick your ass like I've been dying to."

"Fine. Just remember what happens if I win."

Beverly, the kid from the day before, suddenly leapt out of no where with an enormous camera. There were three blinding flashes before his voice rang clear and animated in Franklin's head. "Thanks, guys! Just a coupla' shots for tomorrow's front page. Man, I can see the headline now: ' _New Kid Dies In Hideous Bike Accident_ '..."

Lamar emerged from the middle of the students and swatted at him. "Yo! Get outta here you little fuck!"

Franklin squeezed and opened his eyes several times, waited for the colors to stop floating in front of his vision from the camera's flashes, before the world finally came into focus again. He inhaled icy, night air and looked to his left. Tess was poised in position on her bike, eyes focused ahead, her lip curled back. Behind him, Lamar yelled, "Three, two, one... _go, motherfuckers!_ "

Like a bullet out of a gun, Franklin and Tess shot forward to a burst of cheering and applause from behind them. The cold air scratched Franklin's throat raw and his breath rasped in his throat as they came to the first corner. He swerved, narrowly missing the drooping branch of a tree, heart slamming inside his chest all the while. Tess was ahead of him, and in her path was a cloud of rocks and sand. "See you on the finish line, Newbie!" She pressed hard on the pedals and sped up, heading further into the darkness, until she disappeared completely, swallowed by the night.

Franklin cursed violently, and pushed his legs to pedal faster. He tried to think back to the walk this morning, and just in time, remembered a particularly tough bump in the road coming up. He avoided it, started going-up hill. His legs began to burn. Blood pounded in his ears as he hurtled forward up the hill, climbing it all the way to the top. The bike was squeaking something terrible and Franklin suddenly had an awful image of both wheels flying off at the same time, sending his body rolling over the handlebars and tumbling down the side of the hill.

"Fuck, fuck, come on," he panted, sucking in a huge lungful of air when he finally reached the top of the hill. The ride down was much easier, but scarier. The speed he was going on had his stomach plummeting downwards. He felt like he could take off at any second. The wheels spun rapidly and as the bike shot down the hill, he started to feel dizzy. Tess was no where to be seen. _Fuck_ \- why had he decided to do this again? The moon illuminated the track only slightly, so pedalling hastily down it was sort of like running at top-speed in a pitch-black room. Franklin kept thinking he was about to slam into something, tried to stop and ended up skidding and almost toppling off the side of the bike on numerous occasions.

He reached the place where the road separated and took the path to the right, the one that twisted through woodlands before reaching the opposite side of The Vale. He grunted as he cycled on, feeling branches scratch at his arms and face, sharp stinging leaves and twigs dragging slow across the skin. His body felt numb from going against the wind. He shivered and thought he felt his bones shatter.

The asphalt road of The Vale's west side finally came into view, and as he turned onto it, Franklin took a breath and held it. He told himself he would see Tess just a few feet ahead, thinking that she had won. But the road was empty. He felt something hot prickle at the base of his spine. He'd lost, he'd fucking lost. She had to be there already. He actually yelled out in rage and pushed his foot harder down onto the pedals. He wondered if it was possible to get hypothermia from a bike ride.

He was in for it, he was going to be beaten into the dirt in front of his friends and the rest of the school. That hyperactive prick Beverly would put a picture of his swollen, bruised face on the front page of the school paper or post it on a damn billboard in town. Franklin began to shoot past familiar alleyways, and of course familiar homeless men, and knew the finish line was in sight; and that Tess Williams was waiting for him, cracking her knuckles.

"He's coming!" Shouted a voice after Franklin began to slow, the bike still squealing underneath him. The trees cleared and he saw the crowd, turned toward him and pointing.

Franklin came to a skidding halt, climbed off and lay the bike down on the grass. His legs wobbled and shook as he moved forward, the students clearing a path for him. The silence was alarming. He raised his head and breathed out, coughing at the sharp coldness hugging his lungs. He looked up to find Tess.

But she wasn't there. Franklin stopped in his tracks.

"Dog! Oh my - fuck, Frank!" Two hands were suddenly on him, turning him around by the shoulders. It was Lamar, wide-eyed and laughing, a grin splitting his face. "You won, you quick little asshole! You fuckin' _won!_ "

Nobody else said anything, nobody cheered. They all seemed too shocked. Franklin stood for a moment, dazed, searching the sea of faces. Lester gave him a thumbs-up. That was about the moment it finally hit Franklin, hit him like a slap across the face. He grinned. "I won," he said, trying the words out, testing them. They tasted good. "I won."

Lamar was laughing like he'd been holding it in for years. "You _thrashed_ my damn bike, homie, but yeah, you won."

Suddenly, a new and incoming sound silenced them. A figure was emerging from the alley on a bike; and as they came into the light, they also saw Tess. She was rigid and breathless. When she slowed, she threw the bike onto the ground as if had bitten her and, while the crowd had stepped politely back for Franklin, they _jumped_ out of the way of her.

"Are you happy, you little shit?" she asked him. Her eyes were blazing. "I took a wrong turn. Your lucky fucking day, huh?"

Franklin knew he should feel confident, overjoyed, fucking euphoric with it all. He knew he was expected to boast. He knew that this was a rare moment; it was his only chance to humiliate Tess Williams in front of those who feared her, dreaded her, were desperate to see her disrespected and ridiculed. Except, Franklin realised, that was exactly why he had disliked Tess in the first place. That bullying, boastful attitude. So, he did not start laughing at her, cursing or calling her out. Instead, he walked up to her, and looked her straight in the eye. The crowd hushed. "You remember my terms, right?" he said. "You can't shit on people anymore."

She didn't answer him, just stared back with anger.

He went on. "You leave people alone from now on, you don't stuff 'em in trash cans, lockers, whatever the hell else you can fit people into. You stop picking on the people who don't deserve it. You stop kicking the crap out of them, too."

She frowned. "Are you serious with that?" she said. "I don't beat _anybody_ up, you asshole."

Franklin felt a flicker of irritation. Everything about her - the defiance, the carelessness... she really didn't give a shit who she hurt. Franklin's temper flared. "You told your asshole monkeys to beat Lamar up. You probably told 'em to beat Floyd Hebert up too, if I didn't stop 'em in time. You feel like a tough bitch, beating on people?" Her eyes flashed, but she said nothing. She looked confused. She glanced over his shoulder and seemed to notice Lamar for the first time.

"Lamar?" she said.

"Yeah, Lamar. He was black and blue yesterday, because of _you_. And shit, you know what? _I'm done_. It don't matter what I say, you gonna keep on beating on the weaker kids just to make yourself feel tall." He clenched his fists and turned away. "You don't give a shit, I can see that girl. I'm done." He stormed down the hill, seeing red.

Lamar called out, "Homie! Where you goin'?"

Franklin headed back down the alleyway, suddenly wanting to go home. And then, he also found himself wondering where 'home' even was.

 

 

* * *

 

 

He walked until he found the beach. The lights of the fair gleamed just down the way, bright and loud and overwhelming, but Franklin turned away from them in favour of the sea. It seemed to stretch out for miles, the surface glittering with the moon's pearly-white reflection, the tide soft as it flooded in, and got sucked back out. Franklin collapsed onto a sandy mound at the top of the beach and took a few deep breaths. He hadn't the energy to be angry anymore, all he felt now was sleepy and sore. The air tasted like salt and something else, something heady. It made his head foggy.

Tess would go on being a bully. It was obvious she didn't care, that it was all that she knew and would ever knew. Franklin considered calling Denise as he sat there, and begging her to come pick him up and take him away from his hellhole. But she'd never come, anyway. She was finally rid of him, why in God's name would she ever come back?

He stared out across the water, unblinking, barely breathing. Feeling as though he had fucked everything up. Lamar would definitely be beaten to a pulp now; now that Tess was angry at him. He picked up a cluster of cold sand and crushed it between his hands, feeling the powder break and flutter away. He sighed.

"Are you _following_ me, kid?"  Franklin jumped at the sound of a familiar, sarcastic voice.

He snapped his head up and saw a tall frame in muddy cargo pants and a stained, grimy gray t-shirt leering down at him. It was Trevor Philips, the wild-eyed Townie from the fair. 

"Trevor, man. Uh, h-hey." He became suddenly aware of his isolated location, his empty pockets, the fact he'd left his cell phone back in the dorm. 

To his bewilderment, Trevor flopped down next to him and belched. "What you doin' all the way out here, huh homeslice?"

Franklin managed a weak smile. "Just, uh.. I guess I just wanted to get out of the school for a while."

Trevor made a noise of agreement. " _Jesus_ , I know! I've been there, y'know - how the fuck do you keep yourself from  _clawing your eyes out_?"

"It's a daily battle, dog."

"Are you sure you're okay? You look a little... winded."

"I'm fine, just havin' one of those nights."

"Oh, gotcha. Yeah." Trevor grinned at him. Franklin found the expression terrifying. "You know what the best thing for those kinda days is, Franklin?" His hand suddenly shot into his pocket and pulled out a small plastic packet of pure-white, snowy powder. " _Speed!_ " he hissed. "Best shape of my life. Keeps me on my toes. You want a taste?"

"No thanks, man. I'm cool with just, uh, the beach right now." 

"Meh. Suit yourself. But hey - you ever need anythin', you just call your friendly neighbourhood T, okay?"

"Sure, dog."

"Good!" The packet was returned to his pocket and instead he put both hands either side of him on the sand and leaned back. "It's a nice night, kid."

"What's with the 'kid?'" Franklin said. "You only a couple years older than me, dog."

Trevor gave a bark of laughter. "How old are you, twelve?"

"Fuck no - I'm sixteen, dog."

" _Seriously_? Jesus. I'm sorry, bud, I guess you're just kinda... stunted."

Franklin rolled his eyes. "So I've heard, yeah."

He wasn't really sure what to say, or what to do. He knew he should get back to the school before the curfew, but at the same time, a thought had crept into his mind that he just couldn't shake. He glanced at Trevor. The other man seemed placid, his eyes watching the blinking light of a boat bob softly up and down on the horizon. His relaxed state only encouraged Franklin to speak again.

"Hey, Trevor. What do you know about Bullworth Academy?"

"I know that it's a  _shithole_ full of people I want to choke," Trevor replied, deadpan. "And, I also know that I would rather be slowly disemboweled by a spoon than ever,  _ever_ have to set foot in that place as a student."

"What do you think about the cliques?"

"Bunch of morons, that's what I think. _Especially_ those fucking Jocks," his eyes flashed with what looked like anger, "Too  _scared_ to be who they really are. God, what snakes."

Franklin sensed there was a story there, but the wind was picking up and the time was ticking by. He chose his words carefully. "Trevor, man, I think I could use your help."

"My _help?_   With what? You need somebody killed?"

"No, it ain't like that, dog. There's a clique, or at least two people from the clique, that I need to teach a lesson."

Trevor's face lit up, as though Christmas had come early and Franklin had just given him the greatest present. "You want a clique attacked, huh?  _Well_ , ain't you just a  _scheming_ little thing." He smiled. "Who?"

"These two cats - Brad Snider, Stretch Joseph. They beat my friend up and they been giving serious shit to pretty much everybody, man."

"Aaaand you definitely don't want them killed?"

" _No_ , maybe you could just mess with them. Scare 'em or some shit," Franklin said. "I'm not talkin' about now, man, I just wanted to ask you in case I decide to start trouble."

"Well I'm good at scaring," said Trevor. "Sure. Just give me the word. I've always wanted to crack a couple skulls together from that school."

Franklin smiled. "Thanks, man."

"It's nothin'. I think I know the pussies you're talking about, too - are you fucking  _sure_ you want them alive?"

Franklin didn't answer, just smiled, and followed the boat's blinking light until it had disappeared completely. 

 

* * *

 

 

Franklin's muscles and bones, particularly his legs, were aching the next day, but he was still in remarkably good spirits. The day seemed to go by pleasantly fast, and better yet, he didn't see the Bullies anywhere. The whispering was still there, of course, but he was well-used to ignoring it by now. He met Lamar at the observatory after school for Righteous Slaughter with the rest of the group. There was pizza, comfortable couches, a lot of laughter. The anger and spite he'd felt yesterday seemed so far away. 

"Jay, bro," said Rickie, fingers mashing the controller buttons, "why do you even  _play_ this game? You suck balls, Norris!"

"I'm just keeping it cool right now, dumb ass," Jay retorted. "You wait til' the end, when all y'all are distracted. I'll sneak up to you, butcher you, and then I will _laugh_."

"Ey, what's that noise?" Lamar said suddenly, and they all stopped. Lester lowered the volume on the TV and then they all heard it - a loud rapping on the observatory door. 

"Somebody late to the party?" Rickie asked dubiously.

"Could be one of the Jocks with itching powder again," Paige sighed. 

"I'll go check it out," said Franklin, heading for the staircase.

The stairs led down into the ground floor's wide entrance room, a beautifully decorated and spacious place with telescopes, star charts, posters. It was always bright and warm and, surprisingly, Franklin was really beginning to like it here.

As he approached the door, he saw a shape through the frosted glass. When he pulled the door open, he almost shat himself. 

"Hey Newbie." It was Tess standing on the threshold, a cigarette between her lips. "I wanna talk to you."

Franklin was speechless, but managed to move aside and hold the door open, nodding as an invitation. Tess stepped inside rather awkwardly, sending darting glances to every corner of the room as if expecting wild animals to come charging out from them. She exhaled a spirally cloud of smoke and then tapped the ash onto the polished oak floor. Franklin still didn't speak. 

"Look," she said, "I, uh, I need to say something. So just shut up and listen, okay?" He nodded. She took a breath. "I didn't tell Brad and Stretch to beat up Lamar," she said. "And I didn't tell them to pick on that kid Floyd either. I didn't tell them to beat up  _anyone_. That was all them, I swear."

"But you knew about it." Franklin said.

"No, I didn't. Those two assholes have been going against me for a while now. They've been basically doing what they want."

"But you're the leader."

"I fucking  _know_ , at least I thought I was. And sure, I can be a bitch - I know that. But I would  _never_ beat anyone up, Newbie, fucking trust me on that. I just want people to keep in line and know their place around here, that's all. Brad and Stretch took it too far."

Franklin studied her. She was telling the truth. Her eyes, enormous and forest green, they were full of apprehension. It wasn't easy for her to come here, he appreciated that. "But you said if you lost the race, you'd kick my ass."

"Yeah, but I never actually  _would have_!" Tess said fiercely. "I'd just, tell you to say that I did or something. I'm not like that. Brad and Stretch piss me off."

"So what do you want?"

She hesitated. "I want... I want you to help me take them down."

"Take 'em down?"

"Yeah, like, put them back in their place. I can't do it on my own," she said. 

"So after all the damn tormentin' you gave me since I arrived, I just gotta forget about it? Just 'cos your ass needs help."

"I'll make it up to you," she replied. "I'll do what you say. I'll - we won't bother anybody ever again. If you help me with Brad and Stretch..." she took a long drag of her cigarette. "...Consider the Bullies formally disbanded."

"Just like that?"

"Just like that."

"I don't get you, girl," Franklin said, half-laughing and half-serious. "Why can't you do this yourself, if they supposed to be your friends?"

"They aren't my friends. I don't... I don't really have friends here. I guess that's why I'm reluctant to take them on by myself - if I lose them, then I don't have anybody. People find me intimidating."

"I wonder why."

She frowned, but it vanished from her face quickly as she looked at him. "So," she said after a while, "will you help me? Please, Franklin."

It was the first time she used his actual name. He tried not to notice it, how it made him feel weirdly warm. "Fine," he replied. "It's about time they got sense knocked into them."

"Thank you," she said, and it was sincere. She even smiled; an expression which suited her. "I guess we should make a plan. Those two are dumb as hell, but they'll sense if there's people comin' for 'em."

"Yeah, yeah, you're right. I'll think of something." He suddenly remembered. "And actually, I think I know someone else who would love to help us out."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was written whilst I was dying of feels from Fleet Foxes's "White Winter Hymnal" which, holy jesus, is the most Michael/Trevor song of all time. After Pink's "Heartbreak Down", but anyway. Feels.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed this one! Please comment/kudos, as it proves staying up until 2AM to write and post this wasn't an awful mistake. Heh. Thank you. :)


	6. Just Desserts

After Franklin's last class of the day, he walked straight down to the football field and into the observatory; his head bent low and his footsteps quick and careful. So far, he had managed to successfully avoid both Brad and Stretch, something which was a challenge seeing as the older boys seemed to be around every fucking corner that Franklin had turned today. He was worried that if he was forced to speak to them, they would see it - that flicker of revenge in his eyes that spoke volumes, telling them exactly what he had planned for them this afternoon. It was a relief to be safely inside the observatory and ascending the twisting metallic staircase, heading towards the distinct rumble of voices on the floor above.

He found everybody else in the games room. Nobody looked up when he came in, they probably didn't hear him. The room buzzed with activity and elevated voices. The only one who was totally silent was Lester, sitting at the back of the room facing his computer, his face locked and blank in a way that seemed to tell everyone else he had no desire to be involved in any social interaction. Although, every few seconds he would glance up from the computer screen and shoot quick, darting glances towards each corner of the room. It reminded Franklin of those nature documentaries where you see a frightened gazelle dip its head to drink from a watering hole, but then stop after every few sips to look for lions. Lamar stood in between Tess and Trevor with a nervous expression. The Townie and the ex-Bully were snarling at one another; Tess's fists balled up at her sides, her face almost as red as her hair.

"Whoa! What the fuck is going on?" Franklin charged towards them, eyeing Trevor with suspicion.

Tess glowered. "This fucking _tweaker_ is trying to start shit!"

"I'm just having some issues with carrot top, here," Trevor said, laughing in a way that made the hair on Franklin arms stand to attention. Something malevolent flashed in Trevor's eyes. "We're trying to bring down a clique today, and we're asking the fucking _leader_ of that clique to help us? I don't fucking think so!"

"Hold on, man," Franklin said, "you got it wrong. Tess ain't behind the shit Brad and Stretch been doin' dog, she wants these motherfuckers gone as much as we do." He rested his eyes on her firmly. "She cool, man. Lay off."

"She's going against her comrades!" Trevor shouted. "She is _helping_ us and ensuring that her boyfriends get their asses kicked! Where is the _loyalty?_ That is the most two-faced backstabbing shit that I've ever heard! You want me to trust this snake?"

"Man" Franklin replied, "I told you, we ain't beating on those assholes."

"Uh, so why the fuck am I here?"

"You're a last resort. We gonna tell 'em to be cool from now on, and if they don't agree man... then fine, you can kick their asses."

"Right, because _diseases_ like Snider and Joseph always wanna talk it out first," Trevor said angrily, but still, he unfurled his fists and took a step back. "Have you got a plan, kid? Or do you geniuses think they really are going to come quietly?"

"That's why I called y'all here, man," Franklin said. "This a damn-- what you call it, Lester?"

"A meeting of minds," Lester called out, looking surprised that someone was talking to him. "We brainstorm, come up with the plan."

Franklin turned back to Tess. "Go sit down, girl, 'fore that vein in your head pops."

Tess pulled her lips into a tight line and gave him a flat look, but nevertheless, did as she was asked, collapsing onto the nearest couch and fishing her packet of cigarettes from the pocket of her tight jeans. Lamar visually relaxed once the ticking time-bomb of Tess Williams versus Trevor Philips had been diffused, and he too went to sit down, frowning at Franklin as though this was all his fault. Franklin moved towards the top of the room, where Lester had pushed the TV out of the way and placed a cork-board instead. It was covered in notes, messy hand-drawn doodles, rough diagrams. "You been busy, huh Lester?" he said. 

"Of course. We're going to dismantle this school's Gestapo. I thought we should be prepared." He got up out of his seat and carried his computer over. "I guess we should start with the surveillance cameras."

"Surveillance cameras?" "I installed several during my First Year at various spots around campus."

Trevor gave a great bark of laughter. " _Especially_ in the girls dorm, right L?"

Lester turned a deep shade of red and cleared his throat. "...I've had cameras trained on Brad and Stretch all day and, as of now, they are outside the school building's front steps. We can't accost them there, you definitely don't need an audience for this. So, I realised, if we can somehow lure them down to the football field... we could stage ourselves a beautiful little ambush."

"What about the Jocks?"

"There's no practice today, and anyway," Lester shrugged, "I doubt the Jocks would interfere in low-level clique problems. Compared to them, the Bullies are just flies on the windscreen." Franklin glanced at Tess, but she didn't even seem to be listening. She sat, puffing away on her cigarette with a vacant expression, legs folded underneath her on the couch.

Lester cleared his throat again, forcing Franklin to turn back to him. "Once you get the guys down to the football field, you can put forward your, uh, ' _terms and conditions_ '. If they comply, which I highly doubt they will, then just come back to the observatory and we'll play some victorious Righteous Slaughter. But, however, if they don't feel like not beating up the kids around here anymore, well then." He stopped and eyed Trevor anxiously. "Trevor can kick ass."

Trevor's answering grin was wide. "I'm all for it, but where do you want me to wait? In the bushes like some creep?"

Lester pushed his glasses further up his nose. "Underneath the bleachers should be fine."

"Fine. I'll call my guy, Ron, maybe Cletus or Wade. Get some numbers going." "What about me?" Tess suddenly came out of her coma and stood up. "What part do I play in all this?"

"We're hoping that you can be part of the luring," Lester told her. "If you, I don't know, pretend Franklin and Lamar pissed you off, then they could run in front of you and you could maybe convince Brad and Stretch to follow them."

"They'll beat on Newbie and Lamar regardless, if they see 'em," said Tess. "You don't really need me. But whatever, sure. And hey," she hooked Trevor's gaze, "if there's any fighting, I want in."

"Franklin," The tone of Lester's voice made him turn around. Behind his glasses, Lester's eyes were enormous and stern. "There's no going back from this," he said. "Are you sure you want to go through with it? I don't know what the fallout will be."

"I'm sure," Franklin replied.

"Hm. Well, I guess that's it then. Trevor, if you want to head outside...?"

As everyone began to leave, footsteps loud and clanging on the stairs, Lamar hung back and caught Franklin's eye. The taller boy was unusually quiet. "Hey, Frank," he said gently, "I know I ain't been exactly... _supportive_ of this shit, but seriously man, if them dudes turn violent down on that football field..." He swallowed. "I got you, homie. I got your back."

Franklin smiled. Slinging an arm around the shoulders of his roommate, he began moving towards the stairs. "Yeah, dog. Same here."

 

* * *

 

The calm before the storm. It was unusually quiet on campus at the moment, probably because it was nearing six o'clock, and anyone who wasn't in the dorm rooms attempting to get homework done had gone into town. Franklin and Lamar made their way towards the school building as the late evening sun fell across the sky, turning it smooth shades of light pink and pale orange. Some other time, Franklin might stop and take a moment to watch the wisps of fluffy white clouds drift slow across the pastel sky, but he found it difficult to concentrate on anything but what he was about to undertake. The presence of Lamar beside him was a comfort as they got nearer to the building, the whole structure bathed in that soft golden light. It made Bullworth Academy look... _nice_. Almost. Franklin knew when the sun came back up the next morning, every cracked wall and graffiti stain would once again be visible, and there wouldn't be a quiet like this one anymore. He tried his best to notice it; that rare peace. Brad and Stretch were as Lester had told them; sitting on the steps of the school building. They both wore the Bully uniform of their white school shirt and a pair of tattered jeans. They were passing a joint between them and laughing. The sound of it, overly loud in the quiet, carried across the breeze to where Franklin and Lamar stood.

Lamar scowled. "Yeah, laugh it up," he said. "You won't be laughing for long, you dog-ass fucks."

"Guys!" They both jumped as the hiss from nearby. They turned and saw Tess, sitting on the brick wall outside the boys dorm. "Here's what we're gonna do," she told them once they had reached her. "I'm going to start chasing you, and you're going to run towards the school building. I'll yell for them to come help me, and then you run as fast as you fucking can towards the football field."

Franklin nodded. "Sure, and Tess," he hesitated, then said, "I'm real sorry we gotta do this to your homies, girl. I mean, they might not be anymore, but at one time, them dudes were your friends."

Tess lifted both shoulders and slid off the wall. "I appreciate it, Newbie, but let's just get this over with. You can do your yapping on the field."

There was a beat of silence in which the three of them stood there looking at each other. Tess rolled her eyes and shoved Franklin ahead of her. "Go! _Run_ , you dumbass!"

Franklin ran. He bolted, Lamar following, out to where the cobblestone paveing formed a diamond, towards the front building's courtyard. His heart gave a sharp jolt as they came within eyesight of Brad and Stretch, and he saw them look over. He wondered if he should say something, antagonize them by calling out, but Tess beat him to it. Her voice, shrill and really fucking angry, exploded from behind him. " _Clinton_ , Davis! You fucks! When I catch you, I swear, I'm gonna -- hey! Boys! Help me catch these pieces of shit!" 

The moment Stretch and Brad moved, so did Franklin. Grabbing Lamar's arms, he shot forward, trying to adopt a running pace that balanced being ahead of the pursuers whilst not being too fast for them, either. Lamar was out of breath at his side. 

"Jesus!" he panted, stealing a glance over his shoulder. "Tess seems to be enjoyin' her-damn-self a little too much, homie!"

Franklin looked back. Tess led the pursuit; behind her, Brad and Stretch were red-faced and furious, shouting threats that Franklin couldn't hear over the overwhelming drum of blood in his ears. The cracked cobblestones were slippy underneath his feet and he was grateful when the flat, slightly chipped concrete slabs outside Harrington House's courtyard came into view. A few students sat on the fountain. They looked up in alarm at the chaos heading straight for them. 

Lamar, who was more focused on what was coming after him than what lay in front of him, turned around too late and knocked a poor, pale boy listening to his iPod backwards. There was a great splash and spew of water as the student collapsed into the fountain, sitting with a stupefied expression underneath a stream of water, clothes soaked to the skin. Franklin laughed. He laughed not at the boy, but rather at the ridiculousness of this whole situation. Despite the sliver of fear he could feel curling in the pit of his stomach, he also couldn't help but notice he was enjoying himself. The sight of Brad Snider's scarlet-red face and awkward movement as he struggled to keep up with him and Lamar was an amusing sight that he hoped he'd never forget. Somewhere at the back of his mind, he came upon the tucked-away thought of liking it here. 

"Get back here you inch-high piece of shit!" Brad yelled at Franklin, gasping. "I swear -- when I catch you --"

They approached the Gym. Coach Quinn is loudly threatening a girl hanging up posters outside the swimming pool's building. "Higher! They need to be  _higher_!" 

Franklin caught a glimpse of the posters as he ran by. It passed him a blur of Bullhorns blue and white, but he saw it nonetheless. Centre-frame, Michael Townley smiled softly whilst holding a football, two teammates whose faces Franklin vaguely recognize either side of him. The posters were obviously made by the Art department, and looked fresh out of print. Above Michael's head, a giant headline read, " _Go get 'em Bullhorns! First game of the season, October 12th_ ," and underneath that, in even bigger writing, the statement: " _This is our year!_ " _  
_

"Shit! They gainin', Frank!" Lamar said urgently.

Franklin grabbed hold of Lamar's elbow and tugged him along. They bounded down the bleachers, step after step after step, their footsteps thunder, shaking the whole frame of the seats and announcing their arrival to Trevor and his friends, who hopefully waited somewhere underneath. The football field was soft-looking and quiet underneath the sunset, it almost seemed cruel to interrupt. They ran onto the field, the grass springy and dry underneath their feet, and somewhere near the centre, they stop. Lamar bent over and grabs his knees, winded. Franklin has that ice-cold feeling in the centre of his chest, that harsh and icy rasp you get when you're running and push your lungs a little too hard. 

Tess hung back, letting Brad and Stretch move ahead, something they maybe should have noticed. But they didn't. Like hunting dogs, their eyes were trained straight ahead, unwavering. 

Brad's grin was slow and menacing. "Nowhere to hide, dillweed." He actually cracked his knuckles as he moved towards them, like some stereotypical schoolyard troublemaker. 

"Brad," Tess said. He turned. She looks at him hard. "No."

He chuckled. "You actually going to swing a punch for once, Tess? That's fine. I'll let you start."

She walked ahead and pushed past him and Stretch, coming to stand in front of Franklin and Lamar with her arms crossed in defiance. "You aren't going to be punching anybody. Not them, and not anyone else. It's over."

"What the fuck?" said Stretch. "Tess?"

She smiled, but there was no humour in it. "Call this an intervention. Call it revenge. Call it whatever the fuck you want, because after today, if I see or hear about you two pummeling any more people who don't deserve it, I will personally find you and make your life a living hell."

Franklin moved closer to her. Brad seemed close to exploding. 

"What the fuck is this? I thought we were cool, Tess!" 

She simply nodded. "Yeah, we were. We used to be. Then you started picking on little kids and terrorizing people. You're fucking morons and I want absolutely nothing to do with you."

"And you beat up Lamar," added Franklin, clenching his jaw. "You had this comin'."

"Really?" Brad laughed. "And what are  _you_ going to do about it?"

"I'm gonna ask you one more time," Franklin replied. Brad's face was just inches away. He could see the venom behind the bigger boy's eyes. Franklin raised himself up to his full height to show it didn't faze him. "Are you going to play nice or not?"

Stretch let out a noise of frustration. "Man, fuck this fool!" he said to Brad. Suddenly he lunged, grabbed Franklin by the neck, and lifted him up into the air. Then he shoved him hard back onto the ground.

Franklin landed with a thump, breathless, pain tweaking up his lower back. Tess was the one who reacted first. She went to push Stretch, her whole body going rigid with rage. Brad grabbed her roughly by the arm and flung her onto the ground. "Get the fuck out of the way, you bitch," he spat.

Something in Franklin snapped. He didn't realize he had charged forward and punched Brad across the jaw until Brad was flat on the ground, holding his chin. He laughed and got up, rubbing the skin. "Well, look at the pipsqueak go!" he said tauntingly. 

Franklin considered taking a step back and trying the 'talking' thing again, he really did, he took a moment to pause and watch Brad flex his stupid jaw and think about something persuasive to say. But suddenly, Lamar shot forward and tackled Stretch across the torso, sending him stumbling backwards clutching his ribs. Stretch snarled. "I am going to tear you  _apart_ \--"

Lamar hit him again, with surprising strength. Stretch fell backwards, blood spurting from his nose in rivulets. He reached up and touched the hot red liquid in bewilderment, as if he couldn't quite believe it was really there. Then, his face turned into a hurricane. 

"Got a death wish?" he exclaimed. "Let's pound these fools, Brad!"

Being tackled by Brad Snider was how Franklin imagined being hit by a truck would feel like. As he was sent flying backwards onto the grass, he could feel his ribs knocking together, the wind knocked out of him. Brad landed on him and inflicted a powerful blow to his eye. Franklin yelled out and pulled his legs up to his chest, kicking out as hard as he could and managing to catch Brad's burly torso in the process, sending him staggering backwards. Across the way, Lamar was struggling with Stretch, both of them snarling as they wrestled for control. Lamar's lip was split, and blood dripped down his chin. Anger surged within Franklin and he got to his feet, ignoring the stinging burn of his eye. He backhanded Brad across the face and, just as the bigger boy was about to grab him by the legs and most likely throw him across the field like a football, something remarkable happened.

"Agh! You _fucking Hulk!_ " Tess had jumped onto his back and had her arm tight around his neck, Brad's face flushing pink as she started pummelling the sides of his face with her fists. 

Brad tried pulling at her arms. He was distracted, which meant Franklin could rush to Lamar's aid. He knocked Stretch sideways and got a few good hits in, before Stretch seized his wrists and pulled his arms behind his back. He pulled hard, and Franklin cried out in pain.

Lamar stumbled as he got to his feet, his chin caked in blood and his lip swollen. "Trevor!" he screamed, "now would be a really good time for your ass to show up!"

Brad reared backwards and shook Tess off him. Lamar ran to help her, but Franklin was trapped. Stretch tightened his grip on his arms and Brad stalked over. 

"I am going to _KILL. YOU._ " Franklin spluttered as Brad's fist collided with his stomach. "You fucking prick, you fucking--"

" _Finally!_ Some good ol' teenage bloodshed!" A shrill voice suddenly echoed around them and Franklin saw, through the better vision in his unhurt eye, a baseball bat smack Brad across the face. Stretch gave a shout and dropped Franklin's arms, probably out of shock, giving Franklin the oppurtunity to bolt out of the way. He put a hand over his swelling eye protectively, and with the other, he saw Trevor Philips wild-eyed and snarling, a baseball bat clutched in his right hand. Two of the guys from the fair stood behind him, a nervous-looking guy in glasses and a taller boy with matted dreadlocks and a perplexed expression. 

Brad was coughing on the grass. "What the fuck, man? What the fuck was--"

"Name's Trevor Philips, you dipshit," Trevor leaned over him, leering. "And I do believe you're beating up my little buddies, here!"

"It's that loco from town!" Stretch yelled. "Brad, man--"

Trevor growled and, as if on cue, his two friends grabbed Stretch's arms and pushed him down, pinning him to the ground. Trevor sauntered to where Stretch lay, swung the baseball bat, and brought it down hard on Stretch's knee. "I prefer the term ' _psychopath_ ', thank you very much!" 

Stretch groaned in agony. Trevor leaned down and pulled him up by the collar of his shirt, only to push him down again twice as hard. "Ron, Wade," he barked at his friends, "How about we teach these fuckers a little lesson in picking on people your own size, huh?"

Franklin felt a hand on his arm and jerked, but it was only Tess. "Easy, Newbie," she told him, tugging him out of Trevor's way. "Fuck, your eye. Are you okay?"

"'M fine," he said, but really, he wasn't. His arms felt bruised and his eye was tender and sharp to the touch. He felt Tess's warm fingers ghosting across the painful skin just below his eye, tapping experimentally. 

"I'm glad that tweaker is here," she said, her breath hot and minty against his cheek. 

"Me too." He looked over her shoulder at Lamar, who sat on the grass cradling his bloody nose. "Is he okay?"

"I think he's in shock," Tess let out a small chuckle, stepping back from him. "Did you see him tackle Stretch?  _Jesus_. Didn't know he had that in him."

Franklin nodded. "I guess he really do got Apache in him, after all."

Behind them, Brad had clambered uneasily to his feet, only to become the victim of a fierce headbutt from Trevor, who was leading the attack like some kind of performance. He strutted around with his bat like an actor on a stage. "I don't  _like bullies_ ," he was saying. "You act all tough, and then one day you get a baseball bat to the head and...  _what_? You just fall on the ground like  _pussies_! Where is this strength you keep telling people about? I could -- and I fucking have -- taken on fifty guys with just a pocket knife, and this is the best you can do? You're an  _embarassment_!"

Brad and Stretch didn't respond, just lay on the ground clutching various body parts, groaning and moaning and hissing whilst Trevor continued his monologue, stopping every few minutes to administer another punch or stomp, all to the cheers of Ron and Wade, so that within minutes, the air was only full of Trevor's deep voice and "That's it, Boss! Get 'em Boss!"

" _Apologize_ to my dear friends, here," Trevor barked. "I want you to tell them how fucking sorry you are.  _Now_!"

"W-We're sorry," Brad spluttered, "J-Jesus, man, we're really fucking sorry--"

"We tried to talk it out, didn't we gentlemen?" Trevor interrupted in a sing-song voice. "We gave you  _advice_ , advice you should have heeded. We advised you to leave the good kids of Bullworth alone and focus on the fucked-up punks instead! But, you're going to do that now. You're gonna behave yourselves, aren't you? I'm not gonna ask you twice." He threw his bat onto the ground and leaned over them again, hands on his knees, a wide smile on his lips. "Because if you don't," he said softly, voice barely a whisper. "Do you know what I am going to do?"

Brad and Stretch gaped up at him fearfully, too terrified to answer.

Trevor exploded. "If I hear you've been causing  _SHIT_ , then do you know what I am going to do?" He grabbed both of them by the scruff of the neck and heaved them to their feet, shouting right into their faces. " _I'M GOING TO WIPE YOU ALL OVER THE FUCKING CONCRETE!_ "

He let them go, and they ran. They ran on shaking legs with flailing arms. They bolted away from Trevor and away from the football field so fast it was only seconds before they vanished, the patches of flattened grass being the only hint they had been there at all. 

Trevor's chest was heaving, rising and falling fast. "I think," he said in a gravelly voice, "that solves your problem."

There was a strange silence in which nobody said anything, and then, everyone seemed to move at once. Ron and Wade were at Trevor's side in seconds, chattering and praising and patting his back, while Lamar stared jumping up and down with joy, one hand holding his nose and the other raised high in the air in a victorious fist. Tess looked at Franklin and grinned, the first real one that he had seen from her. He tried to mirror it, but it only made him wince.

"Let's get some ice on that," she laughed. 

 

* * *

 

 

Franklin sat at the side of the boys dormitories, holding an ice-cold can of soda from the vending machine against his eye as Lamar sat across from him with his head tipped back, a blood-spotted tissue held against his nose. Tess drank her soda, her legs stretched out in front of her, deep in thought.

"No regrets, right?" Franklin asked her. 

She smiled. "No, Newbie. No regrets." She paused, then laughed. "Actually, it was pretty fucking satisfying seeing them get their just desserts like that."

"Trevor scares the shit outta me," Lamar said, his voice significantly nasally. "I'm just glad we wasn't on the wrong side today."

"You didn't do too bad yourself, girl," Franklin said to Tess. "Jumpin' on Brad like that? I thought you didn't fight."

"Yeah, well..." she went slightly pink. "I don't like seeing my friends get beat up like that."

The silence that followed was not awkward, but calm. It was almost fully dark now, the only light coming from the street lamps that were concentrated in the diamond and the courtyard. It had also gotten colder, but Franklin didn't particularly feel like going inside. He wanted this evening to last. He felt good; stronger, maybe. He felt like something profound had just been accomplished. 

"Hey Tess," said Lamar, "you know, now that Brad and Stretch were pretty much obliterated by Trevor and his motherfuckin' baseball bat of rage, I don't think you and them are gonna be friends anymore..." he shrugged and gave her a goofy smile. "You can, you know, chill with us from now on."

"Thanks guys," she smiled at both of them. "That'd be cool." She drained her soda can and started pressing little holes into the aluminium with her fingertips. "It's not even Halloween and you two have already made this year one to remember."

Franklin grinned and pulled the soda can off his eye. It felt better, less painful, though he'd be sporting a mean-looking shiner for the next days. He knew that tomorrow would bring questions and whispers and, maybe even more trouble, but right then Franklin found it hard to care. As Lamar and Tess started laughing about the looks on Brad and Stretch's faces as they had ran away, Franklin leaned his head back and stared at the moon, a great silver orb, hanging amongst a sea of stars in the navy-blue sky, and decided that Bullworth Academy wasn't such a bad place to be. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The reason this took so long is that right now I'm in the midst of some intense school exams. So, good news and bad news: The bad news is that they aren't over until the 7th, but the good news is that the worst of them are over this Monday, meaning I'll have more time to focus on writing. :) 
> 
> I really hope you enjoyed this chapter, my brain is fried thanks to the exams so hopefully it's decent!! If you comment/kudos I will marry you, right here and right now. Fucking swear. Your lovely feedback is keeping this story afloat, so thank you <3


	7. A Proposition

 

Midway through Spanish the next morning, the loudspeaker crackled to life and the clipped voice of Ms. Schultz invaded every classroom. "Will Franklin Clinton please report to Principal Weston's office immediately," she said. "Thank you."

Franklin, who had not been listening to Mrs. Madrazo's grammar lesson and was instead doodling in the lined margin of his notebook paper, felt his stomach flip at the sound of his name. The class turned around to look at him - something they had really been doing a lot of today. It wasn't just his purplish, bruised eye that they were gawking at, it was everything. Franklin Clinton was the new kid who had put an end to Brad Snider and Stretch Joseph's iron-like grip on the student body. While he had experienced a significant degree of anonymity when he first arrived, walking through the crowded halls now was a different experience entirely. The muttered whispers of, "Shit, that's him!" followed him everywhere he went; as did the eyes, burning like hot irons on his face.

"Franklin?" Mrs. Madrazo gave him a kind smile. "You are excused."

The scrape of his chair across the floor made him wince as he stood up and made for the door. He was on the ground floor on the east side of the school and all was eerily quiet, save for a few Prefects milling around who instantly scowled at him and barked at him to hurry along. The front hall was an explosion of blue-and-white, those football posters stuck to every available surface, with streamers and banners draped across the entire length of the room. Michael Townley's smiling face followed Franklin up the creaky, saggy staircase and up onto the second floor.

Two Greasers sat next to the office doors. Their all-black outfits and steely, perpetually pissed-off expressions reminded Franklin of a biker gang that had often rode through a town he used to live as a kid. The boys sported bloody noses and knuckles, and the look they gave Franklin as he passed was something close to dangerous. He gave it right back to them, sauntering into the office afterwards to find Ms. Schultz seated behind her immaculate desk, sipping tea from an old-fashioned china cup while simultaneously perusing e-mails. She didn't look at him when he came in.

"Principal Weston is waiting for you, Mr. Clinton," she said.

Franklin eyed the Headmaster's door warily as he approached, taking a moment to smooth down his school sweater before he knocked twice, waited for the gruff answer, and then went inside. Morning sun streamed through the high windows and danced across the ornate rug. The air smelt like coffee. Principal Weston sat drinking it at his desk, using a faded red mug that said " _Pain is a weakness! Survivor of the 25K Bullworth Triathalon_ " in large, chunky white-letters on the side. As Franklin went slowly over to sit down, Principal Weston reached behind himself and absent-mindedly straightened one of the many framed certificates hanging on the wall behind his head.

"Franklin, we meet again," he said finally. He glanced up and whistled. " _Damn_ , slick, that is one hell of a shiner you got there. How'd you get it?"

"I, uh, I fell." Franklin swallowed thickly. "Comin' out of class the other day, Sir, I fell."

"Must have been one hell of a fall."

"It was, Sir." He was still getting used to the term. It tasted bad in his mouth. He'd never been the best of friends with any of principals, that was for sure, but as awful as they'd been he never had to call them 'sir' after every sentence.

"What did you fall on, Clinton?" Weston asked him, square-jawed and imperious. "Would it happen to have been Harold Joseph's fist? Because I just spoke to Harold -- or _Stretch_ , as you kids call him -- as well as his friend, Mr. Snider, and they both told me that you got that black eye because of something else. Because of a little _scuffle_ on the football field."

Franklin's jaw clenched. Weston must have saw it, because he laced his fingers together and leaned forward without letting Franklin answer. "Here at Bullworth Academy, we have a zero tolerance policy when it comes to _physical battery_ , Clinton. I don't have time for tough guys, I thought I told you that when you arrived."

"With all due respect, Sir," said Franklin, "it ain't me you should be accusin' of startin' trouble. They started this whole thing."

"I don't _care_ who started it. The fact is, pal, you have started earning a questionable name for yourself in my school, and I don't like it. But, being the fair and just individual that I am, I've decided to cut you some slack this time around. You're new, you're adjusting. I don't expect you to follow my rules so quickly. However, that being said," his eyes flashed, "If I hear you've been involved in any more fights again, you will be out of here quicker than you can say ' _worthless little punk_ '. Comprende?"

Franklin sat there for what seemed like hours, listening to Principal Weston ramble on about respect and the importance of education and how Bullworth was "the only school left willing to take you in, Clinton". But at last, the bell rang, which seemed to signal the end of Weston's speech. Franklin was about to get up and leave Weston stopped him.

"One more thing, kid," he said sternly. "Snider and Joseph told me something else. One not-so-minor detail that, frankly, made me seriously consider expelling you straight away."

"Sir?"

"The thing is, Franklin," Weston said, "There are two kinds of people. And I'm going to give you this life advice for free, so listen up." He cleared his throat. "There are two kinds of people in this world: the _good_ students, and the _bad_ students. The good students are diligent, dependable and well-functioning members of society. They are the winners. If you associate yourself with good students, then it'll rub off on you. You'll be a success. A leader. But," he paused, and his eyes grew serious, the most serious that Franklin had ever seen them. "If you associate with the bad students, you'll find yourself in a world of trouble. You will find yourself in the midst of a _serious_ shit storm, young man. Consider that your warning, Clinton."

Franklin was frowning. "I'm not sure I follow you, Sir."

Weston smiled dryly. "I am simply telling you this: associate with _certain filthy degenerates_ and you too will end up a filthy degenerate. On top of that, getting degenerates to do your dirty work for you doesn't make you any less guilty, even if there is no blood on your hands."

Franklin understood. Trevor, of course. He tried to look nonchalant. 

Weston nodded at him. "Now, get back to class. And namaste, Franklin. You'd do well to remember what I told you today."

 

* * *

 

 

 "That asshole cold," Lamar said, once Franklin had told him about his trip to the principal's office. They were sitting in a cramped Denny's diner in the heart of Bullworth town, on the busy shopping street where the wealthy Crestwood Heights merged with the working-class Buckley. Lamar, holding a chicken strip like a weapon, rolled his eyes and went on, "Seriously. Weston don't have any idea the trials an' tribulations we went through. We just done kids a fucking favour."

Franklin stared out the window and shrugged. "He tried to threaten me, but man, fuck him. We did good, dog."

It was close to seven o'clock and drizzling light outside. Franklin had needed to get out of that dormitory. Someone had started a fire in one of the rooms which had obviously led to bedlam and a whole lot of screeching, and he was dismayed to discover that this was a regular occurrence as the perpetrator, a freckly Greaser, was known to be something of a pyromaniac. A week or so ago, it would have turned him slack-jawed and horrified that such a thing could happen at Bullworth, but now, after well-and-truly settling in, Franklin was barely fazed.

"What's your story, man?" he asked Lamar suddenly.

Lamar looked at him curiously, mouthful of fries. "What?"

"Like, I just meant... you a real smart dude, and you pretty normal compared to everybody else in school. How come you ain't at a fancier, more private place? They don't seem to take brains seriously, here."

"My mom. Bullworth's cheap compared to the other boardin' schools around here, Frank, and she didn't have the money to send me anywhere else. My First Year, she told me if I didn't like it, I could come back home. But I liked it, so I stayed, and I pretty much been here ever since."

"You _like_ this hellhole?"

"It sounds fucked-up, I know. But you'll get it, homie. There's a weird feelin' here you don't get any place else. Kinda like, well, we all misfit kids, right? So we're all misfit kids together."

Franklin scoffed, dipping one of his fries into the dollop of ketchup on his plate. "How very fuckin' Hallmark."

"No, man. You'll see it someday. Everybody who goes here, they don't fit in anywhere else. So that's all we got - that outcast shit. It's very fuckin' unifying."

Franklin watched a woman wrapped in a heavy raincoat huddle close together with her daughter, the two of them sharing the one umbrella. His chest began to feel tight. "My aunt dumped me here so she and her boyfriend of the month could live it up."

"Your folks not around?" It wasn't really a question, Lamar's tone carried the feeling that he already knew the answer. Franklin just nodded. "Well, we real similar then. I mean, I do got my mom, but I don't see her all that much, homie. Like, at all. She got other kids, they younger than me and shit... they more important, y'know? So I guess I understand."

Franklin smiled across the table at him. "Yeah, for sure L. Thanks."

The door to the diner pinged open a short time later, and a boisterous gang of boys and girls flooded inside. They were all drenched in rainwater, soaked hair plastered to their foreheads. The waitress led the group to a booth on the other side of the room. Franklin saw Michael Townley with his arm slung around the shoulders of his girlfriend, Amanda, though they seemed to be fighting in that hushed-quiet way most couples do when they're out in public. The waitress didn't even have to ask what they wanted - minutes later, she delivered a tray of milkshakes to their table.

"Must be nice bein' a Jock," Lamar remarked, straightening his glasses. "Motherfuckers get benefits. Especially round game-time. Damn, speaking of, you gotta come to the first game Franklin."

"I'm not really into football, dog."

"Fuck no - who is? Besides the jock straps over there," Lamar chuckled. "No, you gotta go just for the good time. It's fun, especially if we gettin' our asses kicked. Fights breakin' out, bitin' and punchin'--"

"You serious? All in the bleachers?"

" _Bleachers?_ Hell no, that's just Townley. Motherfucker got a mean temper on him, 'specially if they losin'. Anyway, if the game sucks we can just go to the observatory."

"Yeah, okay. Not like I've anything better to do."

"Nice enthusiasm, Frank."

 

* * *

 

 

October came, and with it came a brand new palette of colors that flooded across Bullworth Academy and the town beyond it. Trees glowed red-gold and burnt orange, illuminating the garish green moss that clung thickly to the old stone walls surrounding the school front gates; those same leaves becoming soft-lit by sunset, when the sluggish sun let itself be pulled under. The air was turning colder, fresher and more breathable as the days went by, the wind scented with pine cones and raindrops, a new season pushing itself into focus. While it was a riot of Autumn beauty outside the school gates, inside it was a completely different story. One blustery, grey Monday morning Franklin shuffled out into the dormitory hallway and suddenly thought he was still asleep. It seemed the Bullhorns fairy had snuck in during the night and decorated every inch of the boys dorm in blue-and-white banners, streamers, school flags, hand-drawn posters by the kids in the Art department, and that poster of the football team with Michael Townley centre-frame, sporting his jersey clutching a football.

The school spirit was all very heartwarming, Franklin thought sarcastically, but unfortunately it didn't last long. Within half an hour, the other boys had drawn dicks or scribbled curse words across the Art-departmen posters and yanked the banners down. As Franklin sleepily made his bed, he observed Johnny Klebitz attempting to strangle Beverly Felton with one of the ' _Go Team Bullworth!_ ' sports banners. He couldn't help but notice the posters of the Jocks were left untouched, perfectly unmarked and preserved. He asked Lamar why. 

"Why?" His roommate scoffed. "Because the dude is King. Draw a damn dick on Michael Townley's face and you'll have his fist down your throat before you can set down the fuckin' Sharpie."

The actual school building itself was worse. Someone - most likely Weston - had hung the football team's flag right across the entryway. When Franklin walked in, Michael Townley stood with Amanda right under the thing, looking like something out of a Presidential campaign. He was surrounded by other students, who were all laughing uproariously at whatever he was saying. Franklin met Tess by the water fountain. She followed his gaze and scoffed.

"Royalty, right?" she said. "More like a royal pain in the ass. I  _hate_ football season."

"Is it always this nuts?"

"Just the first game. It dies down pretty quick once we start to lose."

"So the Bullhorns are shitty?"

"They're  _okay_... but that's only 'cos of Townley, and he can't carry the whole team. We usually start losing after the first four games. Everyone stops crowding around Townley pretty fucking soon after that, he turns into a lunatic. Nearly got expelled last year after he started kicking the shit out of the Bloomington High quarterback right on the field." 

"Seriously?"

"Yeah. He hits the quarterback, they get into it, suddenly everybody is brawling. And that, Newbie," she broke off to laugh, "is why you _have_ to come to the opening game, when things might actually go our way. We're playing some obscure fuckin' school from up North who never make it past the first round."

"Yeah, for sure girl."

"Cool. You know," she nudged him, "Maybe I hate the football games because I was always going with Brad and Stretch, who'd just get drunk before half-time and turn into jerks. Maybe this year it'll be bearable."

Franklin grinned. "You seen them dudes around lately?"

"Yesterday in French," she said, her eyes twinkling. "Brad's still got that lump on the side of his head after that tweaker smacked him with that bat. Kinda makes my day, to see it."

The bell rang, resulting in a simultaneous rumbling groan from all four corners of the school building. Tess winked and touched his arm before she turned away. "See you around, Newbie."

"It's been weeks, girl - you ever gonna stop callin' me that?"

She paused, mulled it over. She smiled. "Nah. Probably not."

 

* * *

 

 

That night, the clouds parted and gave way to great sheets of icy rain. It pummelled the windows of Franklin and Lamar's room hard, beat on the roof like a hail of bullets. Franklin sat on the bed, trying to write to Denise. He didn't want it to be a proper letter, just something short and simple. For some reason, he wanted her to know that he had settled in here, that he had made some friends, was doing good in his classes, and that he'd also overthrown a clique and survived a fight with two guys twice his size. Normal school stuff. He wanted her to know because he wanted to spite her. His aunt had sent him here in the hopes he would again be expelled, leaving her no choice but to send him to military school, something she had obviously been dying to do since he was old enough. She was probably sitting at home right now, smirking as she imagined the suffering he must be going through. So he wanted to write to her, let her know that, maybe, sending him here might have been the best decision she ever made. 

Outside the door he can hear the sounds of someone screaming, "No! God, no! Anything but that!" and a suspicious dragging sound, but other than that, all is peaceful and harmonious. There was something about a cold, rainy night, Franklin realized, that seemed to make everyone extremely mellow around here. He was sitting there with an earbud in one ear, pen in hand, thinking about finishing up and heading into the living room to wrestle the TV remote out of somebody's hand when he suddenly heard it.

For a moment, Franklin thought it was the beating of the rain. He slid off his bed and stretched, a yawn prising his lips apart, and glanced towards the window. It was only then he saw a silhouette behind the curtain. A nervous buzz erupted in his stomach. 

There was a tapping noise on the window, and it was not the rain. Franklin pulled the earbud out and dropped his phone onto his pillow, creeping towards the window with trepidation. Was it Brad or Stretch? Had they actually realized that, without Trevor, Franklin was pretty much an easy target? He scanned the room for a weapon and decided, in the event of Brad Snider leaping through the window and lurching for his neck, he would grab Lamar's Second Year science fair trophy, sitting a few feet away on one of the shelves, and apologize to Lamar later.

Franklin held his breath as he lifted the curtain slowly, revealing the shadowy figure inch by inch. He quickly realized it wasn't Brad or Stretch once an expensive-looking sweater came into view, and he released the breath that he'd been holding.

A voice split through the darkness, startling him. "Open  _up_ , will you? I'm freezing my ass off out here!"

Franklin held the curtain up and saw a tall boy he didn't recognize standing on the other side of the window. Franklin pulled at the latches on the window and jerked. The moment the window slid open with a creak, a blast of icy-rain flooded into the room and made him jump back. The boy fitted his hands underneath the window and pushed it all the way up. Franklin watched in bewilderment as the stranger heaved himself up, swung his thin body over, and landed on the carpet with a squelching sound. 

The boy shivered, eyebrows knitting into a frown. "First of all, _fuck_ _you_ , because I've been tapping on your window for, like,  _two whole minutes_ , bro. These shoes are ruined!" He pointed at a pair of sneakers that looked more expensive that Franklin's tuition. The boy looked crestfallen as he reached up and felt his soaked brown hair. "Oh man..."

"Who the hell are you? Why were you knockin' on my damn window?"

"Easy, bro, it's all cool." The boy was suddenly all smiles. He stepped further into the room and looked around. "I've never been inside the dorms." He wrinkled his nose. "Fuck. Do they really make you live like this?"

Franklin eyed the science fair trophy again. "You got five seconds, dog. Who the fuck are you?"

"Dom Beasley, buddy." The guy jerked his thumb back in the direction of the window, where the curtain was flapping wildly against the wind. "And you're coming with me."

Franklin hardened. "Ec-fuckin'-scuse me?"

"Can we be quick about this? I get nervous in this part of the campus." As if on cue, a bloodcurling screech exploded from behind the door, followed by a burst of laughter and a deafening bang. Dom blinked and took a step back. "I'm serious, dude. If I get maimed here, my father will personally--"

"Why do I got to go with you?"

"A friend of mine wants to see you."

"Which friend?"

"Jesus, you ask a  _lot_ of questions. The Dominator has no time for such questions. Look, just come _on_ , before I get hypothermia."

Despite everything inside him telling him to stay, Franklin went back over to the bed and put his shoes on. He headed for the door, but Dom stopped him.

"Fuck, not that way! Why do think I came in through the window?"

"Fine, jesus." Franklin scowled and moved towards the window reluctantly. Dom went first, Franklin following and shutting the window firmly behind him. The brutal wind hit him like a slap across the face and he stiffened automatically, tucking his chin into the collar of his sweatshirt and hunching over against the rain. Within seconds he was wet and freezing. Dom led him away from the dormitories and past the school building. It was completely dark out and quiet, the sound of their footsteps splashing through puddles amplified massively in the silence. 

"What's this about?" Franklin called out.

"Hey, I was just sent to come get you. You're gonna have to ask Mr. Boss Man."

"Mr. Boss Man?"

" _Relax_ , bro. We're almost there!"

'There' turned out to be Harrington House. It loomed up before them, an intimidating shadow in the night. All the curtains had been pulled shut, with warm light pressing up against them from the inside, spilling a little light out onto the ground. Dom patted the water fountain as they passed, the way you'd greet an old friend. 

"Home sweet home," Dom grinned. He glanced back at Franklin and winced. "...Try not to touch anything."

A burly guy stood at the door wrapped in a baggy raincoat, arms crossed over his broad chest. He nodded at Dom. "Dominator. This the guy?"

Dom nodded. "I'm bringing him right up."

The guy chuckled as Franklin passed him. "I thought you'd be taller," he said dryly. 

A bubble of anxiety wormed its way into Franklin's stomach as the door opened and he suddenly found himself in the middle of an enormous, beautifully-decorated lobby. It was distinctly old-fashioned, the floors an expensive, polished dark wood, the wallpaper bottle-glass green. Fine chandeliers hung from the high ceiling, dripping in what had to be real diamonds. A giant fireplace crackled in the centre of the room. The walls were covered in beautiful, antique portraits, and just in front of Franklin, sat a pure-white marble bust of a stern-looking man with a bushy moustache and beady eyes. A gold-enamelled plaque identified him as  _Lord Archibald J. Harrington, Harrington House Founder_. A banquet table lay against the east wall, stocked with a plethora of fruit and even a damn chocolate fountain. Franklin could hear faint, waltzy classical musical coming from somewhere, as well as the light tinkle of sophisticated laughter from another room. 

He stared around in surprise, remembering the conditions of the boys dormitory. 

Dom led him up a grand staircase. The second floor was just as fancy, the walls sporting framed photographs of Bullworth students on horses jumping over fences, students smiling widely with diplomas. There were several photographs of students with the President. Franklin wondered who the hell these people were, and began to feel extremely apprehensive. Dom stalked ahead of him with confident strides, leading him down a twisting hallway lined by closed doors. Finally, after what seemed like hours of walking, Dom came to a stop next to a particular door at the end of the hall and turned around, as if to check whether or not Franklin was even there. 

"Don't keep 'em waiting, bro," was all he said, and then, he felt behind him for the doorknob and turned it. He stood aside, and Franklin hesitated for a moment before going inside. 

It was an ordinary living room, similar in size to the one back in the boys dorm, but significantly cleaner and better cared for. And they had a plasma TV. Seriously. A broad-chested boy with a snarky expression was leaning against the fireplace. He smiled when Franklin came in, but it wasn't entirely pleasant. 

"Look what the cat dragged in," the guy called out. "Thanks for getting him, Dom."

Franklin glanced over his shoulder. Dom had strolled in behind him and was now heading towards the fire, holding his hands out in front of him, eager to warm them. "You should _see_ it over there, Steve. They don't even have a  _maid_..."

"I know, Dom. But you're back where you belong. You, on the other hand," the boy smirked at Franklin. "Stick out like a sore fucking thumb." He held out his hand. "Steve Haines, but obviously you knew that already."

Franklin didn't shake his hand. He stared at it, and then took a step backwards. "I do know who you are. You're that Preppie motherfucker."

"And youare the _idiotic maggot_   that's made a name for himself recently," Steve retorted, anger flickering in his eyes. "I heard what you did, kid. And, sure, maybe I was a little impressed at first. But then, I realized - do you think you're some kind of _hotshot?_ Are you looking to takeover the school?" _  
_

"I don't know what you're talking about, dog," Franklin sighed. He was getting tired of this. "All I did was give a couple of guys what they had comin' to them."

"Yeah, you did. I'll admit Snider and Joseph were becoming a problem - they tried to put their poor hands on some of my people. I was going to do something myself, but it seems you got there first." Steve went and sat down in a plush red armchair a few feet away from the fire, motioning for Franklin to sit in the chair opposite. He did, but only because he was wet and the heat from the fire was calling him in. 

"So what do you want?" Franklin sank into the chair and frowned. "You want to pick a fight now, too?"

"No. Well, not with you."

"Who?"

Steve cleared his throat and leaned forward. "Couple weeks ago, Michael fuckin' Townley and his moronic band of steroid monkeys sneak into Preppie territory and  _vandalize_ our Lord Harrington statue. The one downstairs is a replacement, because those scumbags  _defaced_ the one-hundred-and-fifty year old original. I mean - can you believe that?"

Franklin looked at the smouldering flames and wondered when he became the agony aunt for student problems. "So?"

" _So?_ " Steve reared. "So, _tough guy_ , I want your help. Because of that stunt you pulled on the football field, you got a reputation for fucking things up for people, and I need that right now."

"I don't think I could beat up a fucking Jock, dog."

"That's not what I had in mind at all." Steve raised a hand and clicked his fingers. Dom suddenly produced a rolled-up piece of paper and pressed it into Steve's hands. Steve unrolled it, turned it around, and showed it to Franklin. "Do you know what this is?"

Franklin frowned, confused. "The posters for the game," he said. "What do you want me to do with those?" he asked sarcastically." Deface 'em too? Draw a couple moustaches on the Jocks?" 

Steve clenched his jaw. "You're fucking hilarious. No, listen: The first game of the year is this Friday night, against one of most piss-poor teams to ever exist, the Hillview Hawks. Now, my father has bet big money that the Hawks are going to win. If they do, he makes some serious cash."

"Well, that was fuckin' dumb," Franklin shot back. "I heard the Hawks can't even catch the fuckin' ball."

Steve snapped. " _Watch_ your mouth amigo, and listen to me." He exhaled. "I want you to sabotage the football game, Franklin, and make sure that the Bullhorns lose."

Franklin actually laughed. He laughed loud. "Oh really? And how the  _fuck_ am I going to do somethin' like that?"

Steve's answering smile was without warmth or color. "Isn't it obvious?" He leaned forward again, and something malevolent blazed to life in his eyes. "We bribe the QB," he said. "We _bribe_ Townley." 

Franklin blinked. Speechless.

"I got dirt on Townley," Steve went on eagerly. "The kind of dirt that makes a popular QB lose his spot on the team, his pride and joy. We threaten him, tell him to throw the game. And trust me, he will, once he sees what I got on him. My dad gets his money, we've made Townley a laughing stock as payback for murdering our statue. Everybody's happy."

"What about me?" Franklin asked finally. "What do I get for this shit?"

"I'll make it worth your while, amigo. Don't you fucking worry about that. I wipe my ass with fifty dollar bills, for Christ sake!"

"Michael really gonna throw the game, huh? You sure he ain't gonna get a couple of his buddies together and come find yo' ass?"

"No, he won't. I know he won't."

"So what do you want me to do?"

"You're the grunt in all this, pal!" Steve laughed. "You expect me to do my _own_ dirty work?"

Franklin swallowed and tasted something sour. He had a very bad feeling about all of this, and at the same time, he was also intrigued. He let his eyes wander around the room; he drank in the expense of the place, the portraits and the vases and the Persian rugs.  If he did this, he _could_ get some serious cash. 

"So, kid? Can I count on you?"

Franklin moistened his dry lips. "Yeah. Okay, dog. Fine."

Steve's face split into a wide grin, and he started clapping. "Terrific. I knew you were a good investment. I guess we should get the dirt right away, no time to waste."

"I still don't understand though, man," said Franklin, "what the hell do you got on Michael Townley that is so big, he gonna purposely throw a football game?"

Steve met his eyes and smiled. "Go to the clubhouse at the bottom of the football field tomorrow night at around nine," he said, "and see for yourself. Bring a camera."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love the Preppies, my absolute favourite clique in Bully... those hilarious, crazy rich people. Gah. ;)  
> The worst of the exams are over! Rejoice! I still have a lot of deadlines coming up regarding project work for my History & Geography classes, but on the 11th of April, it's all over and I'm on a 2 week Easter vacation. I am so excited for all the sleep that I'm going to have, and of course the writing I'm going to do! ;)
> 
> I've been floored by the wonderful response to this so far and I would really, truly appreciate it if it kept going. Your kudoses/comments have really made me sit down and write when I didn't feel like it, so thank you, you're keeping this going and I love you. <3 Hope you enjoyed this one!


	8. The Set Up

Franklin _would_ have presumed that last night was just a very bizarre and unsettling dream, except for the fact he woke up sneezing. He groaned and reached across the nightstand to grab a tissue, blearily blinking through early morning light. Lamar gave him an odd look as he sat up, rubbed a hand over his face and sniffed. "You okay, homie?"

"I, eh," he sneezed again and grimaced. "I had a weird night."

"Anything to do with the footprints I found on the windowsill?"

"Uh."

Lamar laughed. "Damn, Frank. What happened?"

The thought came to Franklin that he should probably not tell Lamar about his meeting with Steve Haines, because his roommate had only just returned to normal after their bust-up with the Bullies, and probably couldn't handle the thought of taking on the Jocks. So Franklin just shrugged at him as he climbed from bed. "Eh, it was nothin'. I was just out in the rain." Which, technically, wasn't a lie.

Lamar didn't look like he believed him, but he didn't seem to care either. He smiled, scooped up Franklin's school sweater from the ground and hurled it at him. "Whatever. Keep your shit on your side of the room, bitch."

They dressed and jostled their way out of the dormitory and into the pale morning light. The smell of the rain from last night clung to everything, fresh and crisp, staining the ground. The sky seemed to be rumbling with even more rain, pushing its black heavy stones from one place to the next. Despite this, it wasn't cold, but instead pleasantly breezy. Franklin didn't need the sweater part of his uniform on the walk over. The school courtyard was buzzing with activity - students stumbled sleepily up the steps, heavy textbooks weighing down their groggy arms. A Greaser was pummelling the crap out of a Chinese Preppie while a crowd cheered them on; a Prefect trying desperately to intervene. One of kids from Franklin's Math class, a perpetually-stoned dork called Barry, was passed out by the front doors in his underwear; totally out cold. Someone had drawn a penis on his forehead.

"Don't worry about him," Lamar said casually. "He usually wakes up."

They met Tess in the cafeteria for breakfast -- the most hectic part of the school day, as it was a known fact that it was first-come, first-serve, and the lunchladies didn't give a shit if there wasn't anything left for you. Luckily, the three of them managed to get their trays and sit down at their table just as the stampede came through the door. The sound of scraping cutlery and shouts filled the air, as did the distinct smell of the milky-grey slop in Franklin's bowl.

"What the fuck _is_ this?" he said with disgust. He pushed at it with his spoon and the whole contents of the bowl folded in on itself. He gagged.

"Porridge, I think," Tess replied, looking amused. "You've been here a while now, Newbie, you should know the number one rule of Bullworth breakfast," she pointed at her own meal. "Eggs is always the safest option."

Franklin ate without much choice. He tried to swallow but the stuff stuck in his throat like cement and made his stomach lurch. Tess smiled and slid her plate across the table.

"Just this once," she said.

" _Awww_ ," Lamar snickered. Tess glared.

Franklin kicked his roommate hard under the table. "Thanks Tess."

The cafeteria was small to the point of claustrophobia. When the others joined them, Franklin was sandwiched uncomfortably between Jay and Rickie, which would have been bearable had it not been for their exuberant conversation about something called Grottos and Gremlins. He learned how to tune them out and successfully entered a daydream about nothing in particular, until Tess's voice cut through his reverie.

"Um, Newbie?" she murmured. "I think you're wanted."

Franklin glanced up in confusion, and found her looking over his shoulder. He followed her gaze towards the back of the room, and spotted Steve Haines. Steve pointed at Franklin, then pointed to himself, and then pointed to the door. He got up to leave. Franklin watched him leave the cafeteria, a nervous swirl in his stomach.

Lamar nudged him. "What the hell was that?" he asked. "You have beef with Haines now?"

"No. It's - I'll be back in a minute." Franklin rose to his feet. "It's nothing." And it really wasn't - he had been thinking, and he had decided. He wasn't going to go through with what Steve had asked him. With the Bullies pacified, all Franklin wanted to do was ride out the rest of the semester relatively unscathed. He wanted to believe that his troubles at Bullworth were over. He was finished picking fights with very angry people. He rested easier now knowing that Brad and Stretch had been dealt with; he had nothing else to really worry about. He was looking to remain under the radar, and blackmailing the school quarterback? _Not_ the best way to go about it.

Since the entire student body was simultaneously wolfing down breakfast in the cafeteria, the front hall was silent and empty, and the squeak of Franklin's shoes against the rubber floor underneath seemed amplified as he made his way over to Steve, who was leaning against the far wall with his arms crossed over his broad chest, his eyes watching the large clock that hung above the staircase. 

The smile he gave Franklin was imperious. "Couldn't talk to you inside the cafeteria, pal. People would get nervous."

"Of course," Franklin scoffed.

"It's called tactics. Something you'll hopefully grasp one day," said Steve. "I didn't want to draw any attention. After all, what we're about to do is going to go down in  _history_."

"Yeah, look dog... about that..."

Steve straightened. "You  _are_ still going through with it, aren't you?"

Franklin rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. "I think you should find somebody else, man. I don't have a problem with Townley." 

"Well  _I do_ ," Steve snapped. "That deprived scumbag defaced the heirlooms of Harrington House and has been terrorizing my friends since freshman year." _  
_

"Man, if that's the case, then you should be doing all your dirty work  _yourself._ Your damn legs work, don't they? You got free time? Just leave me out of it."

"Do it  _myself_?" The words came out hard and frustrated. "Are you kidding me? What if I'm found out? Those steroid munchers would kill me."

"And what about me?" Franklin scowled.

"You're expendable."

Franklin's fists clenched. "You know what? Fuck you. Find somebody else to do this shit, because I got involved in a damn clique war already and that didn't work out so great for me." He went to turn around, face hot with anger, but before he could budge Steve's hand shot out and pulled him back. 

"When we give you the word, you _are_ going to do this," he said fiercely. "You do this one thing for me and I'll make sure you're looked after. If Snider and Joseph ever try to cause trouble again, we'll be there." There was a pause, and when Franklin looked up at Steve, the other boy's eyes had suddenly turned frosty. " _But..._ if you chicken out of this golden opportunity to get back at the biggest bunch of dickheads to ever walk through these doors, then I can _assure_ you that life at this school will be made very difficult for you."

"I ain't scared of your damn threats, dog."

Steve smiled. It was menacing. "You should be." 

Franklin felt himself losing. He spotted one of the Bullhorns posters over Steve's shoulder and stared at it for a long time. The soft blue-green eyes of Michael Townley stared back; waiting. 

"So what's it going to be?" Steve asked him. "Are you in?"

Franklin sighed. "Fine."

Steve smiled broadly at him. He clapped Franklin hard on the back and chuckled. "Wonderful! You made the smart choice, kid."

"On one condition," said Franklin. "This is the _only_ thing I do for you, and I get some paper for doin' it."

"Of course. Naturally. Wouldn't have it any other way." He rested a hand on Franklin's shoulder and beamed. "You know, I've never had a protégé before. Clinton, I think this is the start of a very beautiful friendship."

 

* * *

 

 

"Absolutely  _not!_ " 

" _Please_ man," Franklin sighed. "I'm not gonna break it or anything."

"The only person that touches Simone is me." Beverly's face was thunderous. "She's not available for  _loan_. Jesus, man. What do you need her for, anyway?"

"Just... something. Come on, Beverly, it's important."

"I'll tell _you_ what's important, homeboy! _This_ camera!" He held it up against the fading evening sunlight as if it was a valuable jewel. "Simone has been with me since I started here. She's more than a camera, dude. She's helped me document every sordid activity around at this school since day fucking one. If anything happens to her, I'll... I'll--"

"Will you calm down?" Franklin snapped. He snatched the camera from Beverly's hands. Beverly shrieked as if he'd stabbed him. "Lunatic. I'll give it back to you tomorrow." He pushed past him and moved away. 

"You're manhandling her!" Beverly yelled hysterically. "Stop manhandling her!"

Franklin slipped the camera into his backpack and crossed the school courtyard, heading past the school building and towards Harrington House. The night had gotten even colder, and Franklin could feel the refrigerated air freezing his lungs and scraping against his throat as he walked, his heavy sweatshirt no match for the cold. It was coming close to eight thirty and a navy-blue glow had been cast across the campus. The sky was awash with black clouds, teeming with rain, and in preperation for the downpour Franklin pulled his hood up. Harrington House soon came into view; tall and bright with lights. 

There was a Preppie at the door, just like last night, smoking a joint and muttering to himself in a foreign language. As he got nearer Franklin realized it was the same boy that he had seen getting his ass beat by that Greaser earlier this morning. "Hi," the Preppie said, his accent thick. "You Franklin?"

"Uh, yeah."

He stepped out of the doorway. "Haines waiting."

The foyer was warm, full of light and bustling with Preppies. They were all relaxing, some engaged in enthusiastic conversation by the crackling fireplace, others languid and sleepy on the wrap-around couches. Franklin tugged his hood back and shivered, feeling the eyes of every Preppie narrow in his direction. A flower of nervousness burst to life inside his chest as he looked wildly around for Steve. He didn't see him. But, he did see Dom, sporting a periwinkle blue cashmere bathrobe. Franklin blinked. It must be nice to be wealthy. 

Dom lifted a hand in lazy greeting and made his way over. "Yo," he said. "I told everyone you were coming to fix Steve's computer." He snorted at the look of bewilderment on Franklin's face. "Don't look at me like that, bro. Can't tell 'em the real reason. And anyway, you hang out with those nerds. It's believable."

"Man, just tell me where Haines is."

"Waiting for you in the same place as yesterday. Come on." 

The other Preppies seemed relieved that he was leaving. Dom led him up the grand staircase and down the narrow corridors, bringing him to the same tidy living room as he had last night. Steve greeted them with a wide grin. He was excited. 

"You have a camera with you?"

"I borrowed Beverly Felton's," Franklin answered. 

"Good." Steve lowered himself into one of the plush armchairs. "You only have one shot at this, so we should go over the plan."

Franklin sat down opposite him and shifted awkwardly. "What am I gonna do?"

"I told you about the clubhouse?" Steve asked. "The Jocks use it as a storage room for all their disgusting equipment, and the local rats also use it as a home." He shuddered. "It's on the far right of the football field, can't miss it. You're going to go down there and take some photos of Townley."

"How do you know he's gonna be there?"

"He'll be there."

"Doing what?"

Steve wrinkled his nose, but ignored him. "Just one photo should be enough, and I'm positive that's all you'll be able to get, anyway, seein' as it'll be dark and the flash of that camera will give you away."

Franklin frowned. "So there's a pretty high chance of me getting caught?"

"Not if you run." Steve looked at him hard. "If Townley sees you, it's over. So do your best ninja impression, buddy."

"What do I do after I get the photo?"

"I'll meet you at the fountain outside Harrington House," Steve replied. "Try not to be late." 

"Then what?" Franklin asked him. "How are you going to get to Townley?"

"We'll worry about that once we have the photo, okay?" Steve frowned at him, impatient. He checked his watch. "It's almost nine. Get out of here, and stay out of sight. If things go belly-up, you'll find yourself dealing with shit much worse than Townley."

"What?"

"You'll see."

Franklin got to his feet and gave the two Preppies a dark look as he moved towards the door. "Y'all better be payin' me a lot for this shit." he said. 

 

* * *

 

 

It was raining by the time Franklin reached the football field. It was the type of rain that was fat and ice-cold; landing sharp and stinging on his skin as he hurried past the bleachers. His hands were clammy and wet with rain as they clutched Beverly's camera close against his chest, his body braced against the harsh wind. He could see the clubhouse at the very bottom of the field, a few feet behind the large yellow goalposts. There was a light in one of the windows -- behind the pulled, ratty curtains, the softest of glows. 

Franklin quickened his pace. He kept glancing over his shoulder as he went, expecting a burly Jock to come barrelling out of nowhere at any moment and tackle him to the wet grass. But all was quiet. 

This was stupid. He felt angry with himself. Why the hell was he out here in the pouring rain like some idiot? What was Michael doing in the clubhouse that was so scandalous? Ballet? Checkers? Was he secretly an avid Grottos and Gremlins player, and was currently engrossed in a nail-biting game with Rickie and Jay? Franklin stomped miserably across the last stretch of grass, wondering why this kind of thing always happened to him. 

His shoes were so slick with rain and grass that he nearly slipped and cracked his head on the brickwork when he finally reached the clubhouse. He hunched over and moved cautiously. The door was very old and bore all the signs of being damaged by numerous footballs over the years, so it was easy to turn the handle and push it open. Franklin threw an arm across his face immediately - the air was heavy with the potent stench of sweat, socks and the rust of very old gym equipment. The narrow entranceway he found himself in was dark and bare. The door on his right was ajar. Franklin peered inside. It was just a storage room - damp, musty and filled with boxes and football blocking pads. Franklin crept inside for a look, and nearly tripped over a bucket of battered hockey sticks, fumbling with the camera but, fortunately, not dropping it. He cursed under his breath. He turned to leave. There was nothing of interest there.

Then he heard a noise: a squeaking, and it wasn't coming from his shoes. Franklin pushed on, came to the other door, and leaned on it slowly with his left shoulder to nudge it open. The room he saw was bigger, filthier and covered in old posters and photographs of past Bullhorns teams. Some of the photos seemed to span way back, back to when photos were black-and-white and uniforms were neater. But Franklin's attention wasn't focused on the photographs for long. His eyes quickly moved to the old threadbare mattress on the floor, and the two bodies which were furiously rutting against each other on top of it. 

Franklin froze, a wave of hot mortification crashing over his entire body and squeezing his chest together. He recognized the stocky body of Michael Townley, clad in only a pair of boxers, hovering over a skinny, sallow-skinned boy who was being extremely vocal. Franklin took an automatic step back. _Fuck Steve Haines_ , he thought. 

"Oh, Mikey..." the skinny boy was growling. _Jesus_ , was this really happening? Franklin felt the burning urge to turn on his heel and rocket out of there as fast as his legs could carry him, but then, he remembered the weight of the camera in his hands. He gulped and raised the camera to eye-level. Watching it through the lens made it feel like some creepy porno, and it was ten times worse. Franklin was about to take the picture when he realized something. 

" _Fuck_... fuck, Trevor..." Michael panted. He ducked down and Franklin saw, clear as day, the wanton face of Trevor Philips underneath him. 

"Holy shit.. God you're so fucking.. oh  _fuck_ , Mikey--"

 _Take the picture!_ Franklin's brain was screaming at him, because he was certain that he would have the image of Michael Townley rutting against Trevor Philips burned on the back of his eyelids for the rest of his life if he were to stand here gawking any longer. With sweaty hands, he brought the camera to eye-level once again and hit the shutter button hard. 

A flash of light illuminated the room and Franklin felt his heart plummet into his stomach. That was much brighter than he'd anticipated. He heard Trevor mumble, "What the fuck was--?" just as Michael Townley jumped backwards so suddenly it was as if he'd been electrocuted. Franklin's stomach lurched and he whipped around, breaking into a run. He collided with the door as a result of the flash assaulting his eyes, emitting a loud bang that reverberated around him. 

Michael gave a panicked shout from the other room. "Fuck!  _T_ , somebody saw us!" _  
_

Franklin ran out into the rain. The football field was dark, but not dark enough to hide him. He pulled his hood up again as he sprinted down the football field. He shot a look over his shoulder and saw to his horror that Michael Townley had seen him, and was after him. 

"HEY!" The quarterback roared. "Get the fuck back here right now! Who the fuck are you?"

Franklin slipped on the grass and tumbled to the ground. His stomach turned to water as he stumbled to his feet again, his body drenched. Michael's voice wasn't far away. "FUCKING PERVERT! Hey! Come back here!"

Franklin shot up the bleachers as fast as he could. He ran until his legs were burning, tearing around corners and jumping walls. His heart slammed hard against his rib cage, he could feel it beating through his sweatshirt; could feel the blood drumming in his ears. He kept stealing panicked looks over his shoulder, but saw only darkness. Michael Townley wasn't behind him. That didn't do anything to slow his steps, however, and by the time he reached Harrington House, he felt close to passing out.

Steve stood underneath an umbrella by the fountain. He jumped back in alarm when Franklin came rocketing around the corner, his breathing laboured, sweat dripping down his face. 

"What happened?" Steve asked him worriedly. "Were you seen?"

"I--yeah, he--" Franklin fought for breath. "Michael saw the flash and came after me, but he didn't know who I was."

"That's okay," said Steve. "I expected as much. As long as he didn't make you." 

Franklin raised himself to his full height and dug his eyes into Steve hard. "Fuck you, man, what the _hell_ was that?"

Steve laughed. "It seems our beloved QB has a secret, that's what that was. So, you got the picture?"

Franklin handed him the camera. Steve studied the photograph and he cracked a smile. "This is perfect. Once Townley sees this, he'll do anything we say."

"I got you your damn picture," Franklin said breathlessly, "and nearly got myself killed in the process. Where's the money?"

"Ah-ah, Franklin," Steve put the strap of the camera around his neck and smiled tauntingly. "That's only half the plan. We still have to show Townley what we got and tell him to throw the game."

Anger bubbled in Franklin's blood, but he pushed it away. He was too tired to argue. "Fine. What's next?"

"Townley goes to the boxing gym in Old Bullworth Vale after school," said Steve. "Meet me there at four o'clock, and we'll settle this." He chuckled, leaning over to pat Franklin on the shoulder. "I might keep you around a little longer, homie. You get things done."

Franklin stood and watched him head back inside, and stood there for a moment afterwards to make sure no crazed football players came hurtling up the steps. When all remained quiet, Franklin turned and walked back to the boys dormitory with a heavy sense of dread, as if there was an anvil hovering above him, hanging by a threadbare string, ready to fall.  

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a big fat crush on Steve. What a loveable dickhead. 
> 
> Easter break! I am delirious with joy, and also sorry for the delay on this chapter. Hopefully this was worth the slight wait. :)  
> Thank you so much for all the lovely feedback and kudos, it makes me so happy to know that people are enjoying this! The next update shouldn't be too far away. 
> 
> I hope that you enjoyed this one, and if any of you would like to find me on Tumblr, you can do so at burtlancasters.tumblr.com :)


	9. In Harm's Way

Franklin had never felt guilty over anything in his life before. It wasn't that he was a bad person or anything; it was just that he had never done anything to feel that guilty about in the first place. Despite the circumstances he had grown up in, he'd turned out to be an okay kid. He'd cleaned his room often, had been polite to the adults that lived around him even if they hadn't been polite to him, and had indeed helped an old lady or two across the street. Morally, Franklin was fine. He knew the difference between right and wrong, and most often he had always chosen to do what was right. And therefore, whenever he had made an honest mistake, he'd never felt too bad about it. He'd always known that, at heart, he was okay. He was actually better than okay, compared to the other kids in his neighbourhood. Guilt was a foreign concept.

He didn't even harbour any guilt about his less-than impressive track record with schools. Sure, it was his fault that he'd been kicked out of so many, but they hadn't exactly given him a choice. Franklin believed that when a kid was struggling, the school was supposed to help him or her out, like any decent educational institution would do, not show them the door. Those schools had been dumps anyway, all of them, full of snotty teachers and kids that had looked down on him. At least here at Bullworth, Franklin felt slightly accepted. He felt that this place at least gave you a chance before they kicked you to the curb, and that was important. And so, when Franklin walked into school the next morning, the last thing he expected to feel when he saw Michael Townley wasn't in his usual place by the stairs, was guilt.

It was a sickly feeling that settled in his gut, bubbled up in his chest; distracted him. He should have punched Steve Haines in the face, he really should have.

"You look like you've seen a ghost," Tess said to him at breakfast. "What's wrong, Newbs? You're all... fidgety."

He shrugged and bent his head over his eggs. "Nothing, I'm fine."

Michael didn't come to breakfast. Franklin kept sending quick, furtive glances over his shoulder at the Jocks table, hoping to see the other boy there. But he never showed up. Amanda sat with the other cheerleaders instead of him, engrossed in a giggly conversation, the space beside her serving as an unfortunate reminder of the trouble Franklin just couldn't seem to stay out of.

Lamar was still staring at him strangely. "You gonna tell me what's on your mind in Chemistry," he said. "Or else I'll beat it out of you, for real. You're bein' so fuckin' shady."

"Beat it out of him?" Tess smiled. "I thought you only used mind-power, Davis."

"Not since I took on Stretch and Brad." He nodded at Franklin. "Shady McShady here would be no match for me."

"Shady McShady?" Franklin couldn't help but smile. "Damn, L. I'm scared already."

Steve caught his eye across the cafeteria and the corner of his mouth uplifted in an arrogant smile. The expression made Franklin nervous. It was clear to him that Steve had noticed Michael's absence as well, as he nodded at the empty space at the Jocks table, and then his smile grew. He seemed to be congratulating Franklin, but Franklin didn't feel like he should be congratulated on anything. He felt like a dick, to be honest.

He got up from the table the moment the bell rang, and was probably the first into Chemistry class. He didn't want to run into Steve and have to fumble his way through another attempt at getting out of all this. He went to he and Lamar's lab station and dropped his bag onto the slightly sticky counter top, pulled over his stool and flopped down. Lamar came in seconds later, followed by the rest of the class and their teacher. Their teacher, whom everybody called Chef for some reason, sported enormous glasses, a shaved head and a perpetual look of worry. At the start of class, he reminded them as he always did about the location of the fire extinguishers and also told off an over-excited looking student over the dangers of inhaling the chemicals.

"Today we'll be testing aqueous solutions for the presence of chloride, carbonate, nitrate and sulfate," he announced. "Follow the instructions on pages 145 and 146 in your book carefully. The last thing we need is another one of you burning your eyebrows off. And yes, I'm talking to you Floyd."

There were the usual thuds and clatters as the class gathered their equipment from the back of the room, followed by the slap of heavy books as they landed on the counter tops. Franklin assisted in what way he could, but it usually ended up with him reading out the instructions and Lamar doing all the work. Franklin watched his friend expertly spoon a brightly-colored powder into one of their beakers, and he thought. He wondered if this was the best time to tell Lamar about Steve, whilst his roommate was surrounded by hazardous chemicals. But the words were stuck in his mouth - desperate to be released. So he told him.

"So, uh, I'm doing some work for the Preppies."

"You're _what?_ " Lamar's hand jerked violently, sending half the spoon's contents across the counter. He cursed.

Franklin grabbed a wad of paper towels. "You were wonderin' what was going on with me. That's it. But I'm stoppin' - I'm not gonna do shit for anybody anymore."

"Wh--what the fuck, Frank? What are you doin for 'em'?"

"I'm..." He stopped. "I'm getting a lot of paper for it. Haines asked me to..." The words just wouldn't come. There was no way he could explain it all without telling Lamar the full story. He hesitated. "Look, I'm going to tell you something, but you gotta swear that you'll never tell another fuckin' soul. Swear?"

Lamar looked startled. "For sure, man. I swear. What's up?"

Franklin sighed. This could go a million different ways, most of them awful. "Haines is blackmailing Michael Townley so that his old man will make serious paper on the game on Saturday. He wants Townley to throw the game. Last night, he made me go and take pictures of..." He glanced around the room to make sure the rest of the class were engrossed in conversation before he continued. "Townley's screwin' Trevor Philips, man," he said. "Haines made me go take photos, and he's gonna use them to make Michael throw the game."

Lamar was silent for a long time. A very long time. His jaw was slack and his hands were paused on the beaker, just holding the thing in mid-air. Franklin feared he'd let it go and it would smash to the floor, releasing a cloud of toxins that would knock them all out. Maybe that would be less excruciating than this.

"W...What?" Lamar finally said, voice barely above a whisper.

"Do you really want to me to repeat it?"

" _No_ , no I--" He was shaking his head wildly. "Frank. That's _serious_ , dog. Jesus! I can't believe..."

As bad as it made him feel, there was still a degree of relief to being able to tell someone. "Haines is gonna trap Michael this afternoon and make him swear to throw the game," Franklin went on. "He wants me to go, too. But I really don't want to, man. I'm done. I want out."

"Are you sure?" Lamar breathed. "Like, Townley got a girlfriend, man. And he real... well, he don't exactly strike me as fruity. Are you sure you saw--"

"I saw. Trust me. It was pretty fuckin' clear."

Lamar put his hand to his mouth. "This is big. This could flip out the whole school, homie."

"I know, which is why I don't want to be involved anymore."

"You gonna tell Haines where to stick it?" Franklin nodded. Lamar shifted nervously.

"Don't," he said seriously. "I told you about Haines. He's _dangerous_."

"So what do I do?"

Lamar thought. He went back to stirring the liquid in the beaker, and it seemed to relax him. His breathing settled back to normal after a few clockwise turns. "Go to wherever Haines is meeting Michael," Lamar told him. "But go _early._ Tell Haines you did the job, get the paper he owes you, and get outta there before Townley even arrives."

Franklin was skeptical. "You think it really gonna be that easy, homie?"

"No. But you still gotta try."

"Haines doesn't seem like the type of cat to get his hands dirty," Franklin said slowly. "I doubt he'd put hands on me, dog. Likewise for his friends. Dom and them other dudes."

"Dom?" Lamar scoffed. "Man, he more worried about messin' up that hair of his. And that other dude, Tao? He too baked out of his mind to even move. Actually, I think it might be alright, dog."

"I hope so."

Lamar nudged him. "Yo, thanks for tellin' me though, Frank." He gave a heavy sigh. "I wonder when you'll be done pickin' beef with every damn clique in this place."

"I fucked up this time. But this is it, man. Seems like all people do these days is tell me what to do, and then I do it. But not anymore. I ain't doin' shit for nobody after this."

"Famous last words."

 

* * *

 

The rest of the day passed without incident, though Franklin was as distracted as he'd been when hiding from Brad and Stretch last month. He managed to avoid Steve and the rest of the Preppies, but he also didn't see Michael either. He spent the majority of English rehearsing the conversation he planned to have with Steve over and over in his mind, and before he knew it, the bell had rung and it was lunch. His stomach was knotted with nerves so he skipped the cafeteria, choosing instead to sit on the wall by the school building's steps and try to clear his mind.

The campus was more or less empty, so quiet and still that the scrape of a leaf as it skidded across the pavement in front of him seemed much louder than usual. He heard footsteps after a few more minutes, coming from behind him, and his stomach sank. He was reluctant to talk to Steve now. He hadn't psyched himself up yet.

"Franklin." It was only Lester. Franklin breathed a sigh of relief and turned his head to look up at the other boy. He nodded at the space beside him, and Lester eased himself down with some difficulty, holding his legs.

"You're awfully broody."

Franklin shrugged. "Got a lot on my mind right now. M'sorry, dog."

"If it's about Michael Townley and Trevor Philips, you can relax. I already know."

Franklin whipped his head around to gape at him, stricken. "You _know?_ "

Lester wiped his nose with the back of his hand and nodded. Like it was no big deal. Even his voice was casual. "I've known for a couple of months. There's not a lot that goes on at this school that I don't know about."

"But... how did you--"

"I have several cameras installed outside the clubhouse and facing the football field itself. I caught some... _interesting_ footage last night."

Franklin rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. "Uh, yeah. So you saw me?"

"Yes, I did. What are you doing, Franklin?"

"Honestly, man?" He sat back. "I don't even know. Haines promised me paper if I did this thing for him, but it ain't worth it."

"Starting fights with the Bullies is one thing," Lester replied, "but the Preppies are a whole new ball game."

"What do you know about them?"

"Just the obvious stuff. Wealthy, trust-fund babies with God complexes. Led by an overly confident turd with an ego the size of Liberty City, with an adrenalin-junkie douchebag as his Second-in-Command." He pushed his glasses farther up his nose. "They might not beat you up, but they can still make your life a living hell."

"Haines is gonna blackmail Michael today with these photos I took of last night. He's going to make him throw the game on Saturday. He wants me to be there too, but... I'm going to go early, tell Haines I'm done, and then I'm never gonna do anything for any motherfuckin' clique ever again."

"Haines's plan is clever, though not without its holes," Lester mused. "You said you took pictures?" Franklin nodded. "Well, you can guarantee one thing: when Michael sees them, he'll throw the game. If word gets out what he and Trevor Philips have been... uh, getting up to, then he could lose his spot on the team."

Franklin's eyes widened. "For real?"

"Weston has a _very_ strict policy when it comes to the Townies. Students can't associate with them at all. I mean, they all used to be students here, but Weston expelled them. He hates them. They're a gang, Franklin. Weston doesn't like gangs."

"But maybe Trevor could help me out," Franklin replied hopefully. "Put the beat on Haines like he did to the Bullies."

Lester paled. " _No_. If Trevor finds out that you were the one who took the photos... let's just say I wouldn't like to be you. He might be a drug-addled psychopath, but I do know that he cares about Michael. And when Trevor cares about something..." he winced. "He really freakin' cares about something. The fact that he likes you won't matter."

"Yeah, dog. I got you."

"You should. The Preppies aren't harmless, Franklin. You've gotten involved with some very angry people, here. So watch your back."

Franklin's first day here seemed like a year ago, not a month ago. He remembered walking through those gates with the determination to stay under the radar, break a few rules and then be out by the end of the week. He tried to imagine what that would have been like, what would be different now. He pictured Denise arriving in her beat-up car, throwing all his things in the trunk. The smirking face of Principal Weston as the car pulled out onto the road. Lamar's disappointed eyes watching the headlights until they had faded away to nothing. Franklin would sit and stare out at the window, while his aunt cranked up the volume of her new-age hippy music and proceeded to tell him what a fuck-up he was, and how he had shamed the memory of his mother. Then they would arrive back at the house, and Franklin would ignore whatever man Denise had living there at the time, and he would go into his room and lie down on his bed. He would ask his mother for forgiveness.

She had never been Mother of the Year, even when she was clean. But even so, Franklin still had a lot of good memories. Road trips and beaches in the summer, picnics and basketball games, shopping for new shoes. There was one memory in particular that he often liked to think about. Franklin was six, or at least it felt like he had been six whenever he thought back to that time, standing in the kitchen helping his mother bake a strawberry pie. She sang along to the radio, something upbeat and bouncy; her slender arms dusted with flour, spongy yellow batter caked to her fingers. She turned her head, laughed, and swiped her finger across the delicious stickiness surrounding his mouth. He was doing more eating than helping, but even so, she gave him another plate of strawberries and told him she loved him. The sun was shining, and those strawberries had been impossibly red. Franklin could remember their sweetness even now. His mother had been beautiful then; she'd been growing her hair out, and it was glossy and chocolate-brown in the sunshine. She was small and petite, with high cheekbones and a dazzling smile. She was the most beautiful woman on the block, Franklin had heard, which was why so many of their neighbours could never understand why she got with Franklin's dad, why she let him do the things that he did. But by then he was long gone, and everything was brighter. His mother was working, she had normal friends, she was single and happy.

Franklin knew why he held onto this memory so tightly. It was because it was the last time that he'd heard his mother sing. The last time she had baked a pie, and the last time she told him she loved him. A few months later she was back on the pipe, and pretty soon after that, she wasn't there at all. Franklin had to leave that nice house, that nice neighbourhood with the friendly people, the other children who let him ride their bikes. He went to live with his grandparents - kind, loving people who always did their best for him, but it was never quite the same. Franklin often wondered if those joyous memories were brief glimpses into the life that could have been. He didn't like to think about that.

He wondered what his mother would think of him now.

"Lester," he said. "Am I a shitty person for doing all this?"

Lester's smile was sarcastic. "We're all shitty people," he said matter-of-factly. "Welcome to Bullworth."

 

* * *

 

Mr. Yetarian was hungover in Shop. When he staggered in after the bell, he croaked at the class that they could continue with their projects, but he was going to take a nap. Franklin went to his station and organized everything he needed. He felt better since lunch and was ready to lose himself in his work when Mr. Yetarian, sitting at his desk with his feet up, cracked one eye open and looked towards the back of the room.

"Townley," he called out, "you shouldn't be operating that saw on your own. You shouldn't be doing _any_ of that project on your own. Where the hell is that surly child?"

"You mean Dave?" Franklin was stricken. Michael was standing behind his station, goggles perched atop his head.

"Is he skipping class again?" Mr. Yetarian didn't sound like he cared all that much.

"Uh, yeah. I think so."

Mr. Yetarian sighed heavily. Franklin bored his eyes into his table, but even so, he became hyper-aware of the eyes of their teacher burning into his skull. "Clinton!" He felt something inside him collapse in horror. "Partner up with Townley today. We've gone two weeks without someone cutting off an appendage, let's try to keep that record going."

Franklin didn't have a choice. Awkwardly, he gathered up his things and shuffled reluctantly to the back of the room. He tried to remember that Michael had no idea it was him last night, so he shouldn't be so tense. Still, when Michael looked up and smiled at him, Franklin wanted nothing more than to blurt out the truth and apologize profusely. What had gotten into him? It felt hypocritical that he had been preaching about Brad and Stretch picking on those who didn't deserve it, and then Franklin went and did something rotten to another innocent victim. He felt more determined than ever to tell Steve to fuck off.

Michael looked tired, all hard and crumbling at the edges. There was a nervousness to his movements, and only Franklin knew why. "Franklin, right?"

Franklin couldn't help but feel worried he remembered. He could have easily made him last night, dark or not.

"Yeah." He licked his lips anxiously. "So, uh, what are you workin' on?"

"Hell if I know. Dave does all the work," Michael smiled tightly. "And uh, if you don't mind, I'd rather just sit here and take a nap or something."

He flopped down on the stool and sighed. "I had a, uh, rough night."

"Are you alright, homie?"

Michael's head sank into his folded arms on the desk, and he groaned. "No. I'm just... never mind, kid. You don't want to hear it."

At the next table, two boys were having a loud conversation over the buzz of a belt sander.

"You're _so_ full of shit!" one of them was shouting, "Lacey is _way_ hotter than Poppy."

" _You're_ full of the shit," the other one yelled. "Poppy is fucking hot, you jackass."

"Yeah well, she'd never date you. She only dates rich kids like Steve or Tao."

"And Lacey would date you? She's not even that hot, man."

"Are you _nuts?_   Hey Michael!"

"What the fuck, man?" The other boy hissed. "He has a girlfriend."

"So? He's not _blind_ , unlike you. Hey, Michael!"

Michael raised his head slowly. "What?"

The taller of the two called over, "Who do you think is hotter: Poppy Mitchell or Lacey Jonas?"

Michael grunted. "Fuck off."

"See! I told you. Amanda would kill him."

"I'm tellin' you, you're fucking wrong. Michael, just answer the question dude."

Franklin began to get a very bad feeling. Michael sat up, eerily calm, though his eyes were dark and blazing. He stared hard at the two boys. "You're starting to annoy me," he growled.

The tall boy frowned. "Jesus, don't be a dick about it."

His friend elbowed him hard in the ribs, his face as pale as milk. "Shut the fuck up, you idiot!" He hissed. "He's the _quarterback_ \--"

"Well," the taller one said loudly, "right now he's being a dickhead."

And then Michael was gone. It happened so fast that Franklin didn't realize Michael had left his seat until the stool was sent crashing onto the floor, and Michael was advancing towards the tall boy with his fists clenched at his sides. " _What_ did you just fuckin' say to me?"

"Hey! He didn't mean it, man," the smaller of the pair reached out to block him, but Michael grabbed him by the wrist and swung him around hard, sending him hurtling to the ground. The taller boy yelled out fearfully.

Franklin reacted. He rushed to Michael's side and tugged him back, and fortunately, the Jock came easily. "Whoa, calm down dog."

"I'll calm down when this little turd shows me some respect," Michael spat. The tall boy cowered fearfully against his station. "Not so mouthy now, are you?" He shoved at him hard, sending the boy flying backwards into the table. "You arrogant piece of--"

" _Townley!_ " It was Mr. Yetarian, woken from his coma by all the noise. "Get away from the saws!" he shrieked.

Michael returned to his table and Franklin followed. Mr. Yetarian raised himself up to his full height and leaned in close to Michael. "We've had issues with your temper in the past, Mr. Townley," he said roughly. "I trust you can keep it under control this year?"

Michael didn't answer, just dropped his head into his arms again and sighed. When Mr. Yetarian wandered back up to his desk, Franklin was surprised when Michael spoke to him. "M'sorry about that," he said awkwardly. "I just... today has been shitty and I guess I just--"

"I got you, man. It's fine. I understand."

Michael peered at him with interest. "What's your story? Where did you go before here?"

Franklin half-smiled. "Pretty much everywhere. Schools didn't like me."

Michael chuckled, and it seemed to take the hardness away from his eyes. "Well, it's hard to get expelled from here, unless you're a real piece of work so... I guess you should get comfortable. Hey," he perked up. "Are you coming to the game on Saturday? You ain't never seen anything like a Bullhorns game."

Franklin felt hot. "Um, for sure. I'm goin'."

"Good. We're gonna kick ass. The Hawks wouldn't know a football if it bit them on the ass."

That was how the rest of the class passed - just chatter about football games and school life in general. Franklin was ashamed to find that, aside from the anger issues, Michael Townley was a nice guy. Intimidating, but nice. He talked at length about football and throughout, Franklin couldn't look him in the eye.

The bell rang, signalling the end of class and the end of the school day. Michael shook his head when the two boys at the other table shot out of the room. "Pussies," he scoffed. "I can't wait to get out onto the field and blow off some steam. I got a lot of... _stuff_ , right now. You know?" And fuck, Franklin did know, and he hated himself for it.

Michael turned to him outside the door. "Nice talking to you, Frank. I'll see you around."

Franklin glanced at the clock. If he wanted to be early, he would have to leave now.

 

* * *

 

Old Bullworth Vale looked worse during the day than it did at night, if that was possible. The air was foggy and the sky a steel grey, making the place look even shabbier than usual. The boxing gym was a three-storey, modest redbrick building sandwiched between a crumbling grocery store and a second-hand bookshop. Franklin sucked in a deep breath before he pushed the front door open. He was ready. He didn't even want the money anymore, he just wanted to forget all this.

Inside he found a dank, very large room with three large boxing rings and a clutter of boxing equipment. A grungy type of rock music was playing; very fitting for this place, as it certainly made Franklin want to knock somebody out. The stench of sweat was nauseating. Each boxing ring was occupied by two guys beating the shit out of each other, and none of them were familiar to Franklin. He looked around wildly for any hint of where to go, and found it in the form of a sign on the wall to his left. _Private boxing facilities upstairs_. He almost smiled. Of course. Steve wouldn't touch any of the rings down here.

Franklin took the stairs two at a time. His heart was pounding, his adrenalin was pumping, and he had his rehearsed conversation ready to go. He could hear light laughter as he ascended. He told himself to stay calm, that he would be out of there in minutes. He just had to keep it quick and easy, and try his hardest not to piss anybody off.

He reached the door and burst through it, the words punching themselves out of his mouth the moment he saw Steve. "I'm not doing this anymore," said Franklin loudly. "I don't want any money, let's just say this shit ain't ever happened. I'm not the kind of cat that does this. Townley is alright. So, fuck off and don't involve me in any of your business after this."

Steve did not react for several moments. But finally, he smiled. A real, amused smile. "Here he is," he said, "our terrific photographer."

Franklin felt something inside him snap and break open. He turned his head slowly. Michael Townley sat with wide eyes in a chair by one of the rings, sporting his letterman jacket over some running pants. When he saw Franklin, his expression turned to astonishment. _Fuck_. Franklin felt the red bloom of embarrassment flush his face. It seemed he wasn't the only one who had come early. His rehearsed conversation melted away to nothingness in his brain.

"So as I was saying, Townley," Steve was holding the photograph that Franklin took, only it was blown up to twice its size, and was one of many identical copies. "If you don't play by my rules, these pictures will be stuck all around the school. On every locker, classroom door, trash-can and above every fucking urinal. _Everywhere_."

Michael was still staring at Franklin. Steve snapped his fingers in front of his face. "Townley, listen up, because this is what we want you to do."

Michael turned his head slowly. Steve's smile was venomous. "Throw the game."

Michael recoiled, his whole face flushing bright red with anger. " _What?_ Fuck you! No way!"

"Need I remind you?" Steve held the photo at eye-level. Franklin saw a muscle at the side of Michael's mouth jump as he looked at it.

"You fucking scumbag," Michael growled. "Throw the game? Throw the fuckin' game? It's the _Hawks!_ We'll be a laughing stock!"

"Which is better for you," asked Steve, "being a laughing stock or being outed in front of the whole school? Do you like your letterman jacket, Townley? Because you won't have it anymore if Weston finds out what you and that _degenerate_ have been doing, and on school property."

Michael's face flashed with outrage. "You're a real piece of work, do you know that?" He hooked Franklin's gaze across the room. "And making kids do your dirty work? I could snap your neck."

"Ah, but you _won't_. Remember what's on the line here." Steve straightened and crossed his arms. "I heard through the grapevine that you want to go _pro_ after you graduate, Townley? Do you think that'll happen if you get kicked off the team? Seems like you have a choice to make."

Michael's face was skim milk. " _Say_ I do what you want," he began, his teeth gritted as if the very words hurt him, "Then I want your word, your fucking _word_ Haines, that the second the game finishes you toss those pictures into the fuckin' fire."

Steve smirked. "I'm not cruel, Townley. I'll play fair if you do. Throw the game and the pictures will be destroyed. Promise."

The minutes ticked by like hours. Michael sat, slouched and agitated, his hands twitching as though he were contemplating the benefits of strangling Steve until he turned blue. Franklin was frozen against the wall. His nerves were on edge: Michael knew he had a part in all this, that he played the focal part. He was going to destroy him. He could see it, the fire burning hot and vicious in his eyes. Franklin was dead.

"Fine." The word fell from Michael's lips heavily, dropped with a clunk at Steve's feet, left the three of them speechless. Even Michael looked surprised. He cleared his throat and met Steve's gaze. "I'll do it. I'll fucking do it."

Steve smiled. "Then you're not as dumb as I thought you were." He glanced at Franklin. "I'll be talking to you about your little outburst later, you little shit. As for now, see Fruity here out."

"Show him out?" Franklin's temper flared. "Fuck you, man! Dom's your bitch, not me."

But there was something very dark in Steve's eyes. Something that made Franklin's legs move of their own accord. Michael followed him. Steve gave them an arrogant wave. "Bye fellas."

The slam of the door behind them was deafening. Franklin was hyper-aware of Michael's presence behind him as he bounded down the creaky wooden stairs. He was waiting to feel the blow of a fist to the back of his head. He reached the front door with relief, barged into it, and was about to run for the hills when a hand shot out and turned him around roughly by the shoulder. Michael's expression was unreadable. Franklin gulped.

"You could have said something," Michael said. "Earlier in Shop, you could have said something."

"Man, I'm sorry. I _truly_ am fuckin' sorry. I don't want to be involved in any of this shit anymore--"

"I heard you when you came in," Michael interrupted. "And I believed you." He glanced back at the boxing gym, and appeared to be seriously weighing up the pros and cons of setting it on fire. "I've dealt with that asshole since freshman year. I'd love nothing more than to put him in the ground." He turned back to Franklin. "So that was you last night."

"I'm sorry."

"Do you know Trevor?"

Franklin nodded.

Michael's eyebrows rose. "Really? Well then, you don't need me to tell you what he'd do if he found out it was you. So we'll keep this between us."

Franklin felt uneasy. "Aren't you... angry?"

"Oh, I'm _pissed_ , but not at you. I'm pissed off with this place in general, this town. This whole fucking system." He sighed, and the sound seemed to carry the weight of the world. "I should have expected something like this, kid, and to be honest, I kind of respect you. You've been here -- what? A month? And you're already building a reputation here."

"You're crazy."

"Yeah, I am." Michael said, his voice catching. "I can't believe I have to do this shit, but it's this or lose my spot. I want to be in the NFL, kid, I have dreams. And I'm not about to let a slimy little rich-kid weasel take a shit on them. Sure, it'll suck, but I'll get over it." He looked at his watch. "I should go."

Franklin watched him meander towards the sidewalk, his hands in his pockets, a miserable expression on his face. Just as he reached the pavement, he turned around and met Franklin's eyes again. "You seem like a good guy considerin'," he said, "and this time I'm gonna cut you a break. But kid?" His eyes hardened. "Pull any shit like this again, and you'll be sleeping with one eye open. Are we clear?"

Franklin nodded, unable to get any words out. Michael nodded at him curtly, turned on his heel, and walked away.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please forgive my limited knowledge of what happens in Shop class, as I'm Irish and have no idea what that actually is... ;) 
> 
> This chapter took forever, and I'm pretty sure I hate it. I listened to a lot of "high school music" to write this, appreciate my sacrifice! And thank you so much for all the kudos and comments, you're all fantastic and I love you dearly. Please keep it going, as it helps and motivates me more than you know. :) 
> 
> The next chapter should be up in a few days. I hope you enjoyed this one, and happy Easter! <3


	10. The Big Game

Saturday came much too quickly. Franklin pulled the curtains open that morning and saw that, in the night, someone had decorated the low walls surrounding both the boys and girls dormitories with blue-and-white balloons and ribbons. The diamond that separated the dorms now held a sign that had originally read, " _Welcome, Hillview Hawks!_ ", but the 'welcome' had been crossed out in aggressive Sharpie and in its place, someone had instead written, " _Fuck off, Hillview Hawks!_ " How very Bullworth. Franklin pinned the curtains back and turned around to get dressed. He hadn't slept well last night; had tossed and turned and broke out into cold sweats at the thought of how the game was going to go, and as a result his shirt was stuck to his skin as though he'd been vacuum-packed into it. He peeled it off and threw it into the hamper, then leaned down to scoop a fresh one off the floor. Across the room, Lamar was stirring.

"My dude, it is ten thirty," he grumbled into his pillow. "What are you doing? It's Saturday. Get your ass back in bed."

"I can't sleep." Franklin rummaged in his nightstand drawer for fresh socks. "I think I might go into town, walk around, clear my head. Can I take your bike?"

"It's still busted after you burned the fuckin' wheels off it, F," Lamar retorted. "You can walk."

Franklin glanced at the door. The dorm was always quieter on Saturday mornings; though he could hear the faint buzz of chatter from the living room's television, where a few early-birds often gathered to watch _Adventure Time_ before fights erupted over the remote. He was aware that some of the boys actually spent their whole Saturday and Sunday lounging around the dorm, a fact that confused him to no end. Why anyone would want to spend more than a few hours in the stifling, smelly confines of this place was beyond him.

Lamar threw back the covers and climbed out of bed with a sigh. "I'll go with you, just to make sure you don't get your ass into any more trouble." Franklin looked at him and wondered what exactly was threatening about a nerd in Aquaman boxers. "We can go shoot hoops in the park. I will _dominate_ your ass, homie. Tear it up."

"...That don't sound like an insult, dog."

"Man, shut up. Dirty-ass bitch."

Franklin laughed and stepped into his high-tops. Suddenly, a noise at the window made him freeze. He looked up and sighed as he took in the sight of two familiar figures lurking outside the window. "Jesus," he said, "what now?" He pushed the window open and stood back, surprise overcoming the nervous twist in his stomach, and watched as Steve and Dom swung their legs over the window ledge and slid into the room.

Lamar made a noise of protest and leapt for the cover of his bedsheets. "What the fuck? I'm in my damn _drawers!_ "

Steve ignored him. He was looking around the room with the expression of a person who had just smelled something disgusting. He pushed his hands into the pockets of his pants and kicked at the pile of laundry at his feet, his nose wrinkling. "Good _God_ ," he said, "I hope they gave you shots when you got here."

Franklin's eyes narrowed. "What do you want?"

Steve's mouth turned up at the corners. "What, no 'good morning?'" He rolled his eyes. "Easy does it, kid. We're here on business."

"Business?" Franklin snapped. "Man, we done."

"Hey! We ain't _done yet_ , homie." The smile melted from Steve's face. "We're done when I say we're done."

"What the fuck you want me to do? I handled your shit with Michael." Franklin shot back. "And you still ain't paid me for it."

"All in good time, pal," Steve said. "I just thought I could interest you in something else. Something that will make you double what I owe you." He smiled. "Dom?"

Dom cleared his throat. "Here's the deal: those Greaser fucks have been causing trouble for one of our own. Tao. You know, Chinese kid? Not a word of English?"

"Yeah. What about him?"

"Look bro, we don't like people messing with our friends," Dom told him. "So, we'd like you to teach them a lesson."

"I'm not starting fights--"

"You won't be," Steve cut in. "You won't be fighting anybody, buddy. All you have to do is sneak into the auto-shop courtyard. Klebitz and his greasemonkeys keep their bikes there. Let the air out of the wheels, bleed out the engines, and then get out of there. Easy."

"You said taking them pictures of Michael and Trevor was gonna be easy, dog," said Franklin, "And then I nearly got caught and gutted by the fuckin' quarterback."

"I'm giving you an opportunity here, even after that little _hiccup_ in the gym." Steve said curtly. "You're going to do this. You are. Because I can make it very worth your while." Steve sniffed the air and took a step back towards the window. "I'll see you at the game, Clinton. Make sure to cheer extra loud for Townley... he'll need it."

Franklin pulled the curtains back together after they had gone. Lamar was standing with the comforter held across his lanky frame, a bemused expression painting his face. "So it's like that?" he asked. "You their errand boy? They come to with their problems?"

"I don't even want the money anymore." Franklin collapsed on the edge of his bed and put his chin on his hand. "But I can't take on Haines. What am I gonna do, homie?"

"You want my opinion?" Lamar swallowed. "I'd keep doin' as they asking, Frank. Better than being on their bad side," he said, and Franklin gritted his teeth. He knew Lamar was right. There was no way he could take on the Preppies and survive it. He had to find some kind of weakness, something he could use against them.

Franklin lifted his head and looked at Lamar. A smile twitched at his lips. "Put your damn pants on, man."

"Let's just go shoot hoops," Lamar offered, grabbing his jeans off the floor and stepping into them. "Forget about them rich dicks for a couple hours."

"Them Greasers seem like bad news, dog," Franklin mused. "Think I'll be safe?"

"If it's a sneak-in, sneak-out type of thing, I think so. The Greasers got brawn but they real fuckin' slow. Plus, if you go at night, there won't be anyone around." Lamar met his eyes and gave him a small smile. "I'll help you out, when the time comes. We'll go in, real fuckin' ninja style!"

Franklin bit his lip. "I don't wanna involve you in shit, dog."

"You ain't involvin' me in anything. I'm volunteering. Besides," Lamar grinned. "I told you I got your back."

"Shit man, thanks. I appreciate it."

"You know, I think we should make this, like, a _thing,_  Frank." Franklin gave him a confused look. "I mean, messing with the cliques on the behalf of the other cliques, and making paper on it. Like some kind of secret service shit."

"Weren't you the one tellin' me specifically _not_ to mess with the cliques?"

Lamar blinked at him guilelessly. "If there's some serious paper to be made... shit, Frank, what if this is your callin'. You seem to be real talented at fucking shit up."

Franklin raised an eyebrow. "Thanks."

 

* * *

 

The public park in Bullworth town was actually pretty nice. Under the sunlight, the grass was a vibrant, lush green and the trees were a riot of Autumn colors. The far side of the park contained a kids playground, and though the equipment was badly rusted, the kids didn't seem to mind. Their shouts of delight and joy clung to the breeze, were carried all the way to the other side, where Lamar and Franklin had been playing basketball for the better part of two hours. Franklin didn't think one-on-one basketball could be so entertaining, but watching Lamar make his way clumsily around the court was extremely amusing. He felt better and was glad they had come out here. He had been getting cabin fever shut up inside the gates of that school and it felt pretty fantastic to be out in the fresh air, surrounded by shrubbery and trees, sweating out all the tension he'd built up over the past few days and actually letting himself go, laughing and enjoying himself.

He bounced the basketball with three hard squeaks against the blacktop, faked left when Lamar accosted him, shot to the right and jumped high to toss the ball easily through the hoop.

Lamar panted behind him, his glasses steamed over. "You move _real_ quick for a short dude."

"And you can't block for shit, despite the fact you're -- what? Seven foot twelve?"

"Har har, make your jokes asshole. What I lack in athletic ability, I make up for in Jedi brain power."

"Whatever."

Lamar bounced the ball a couple times. "So, are you going to the dance?"

"What? What dance?"

"Man, the _dance_ , Frank. The Halloween dance."

"I didn't know there was one."

"Every Halloween night, in the gym," Lamar told him. "Course, after a couple hours somebody spikes the punch and dudes be throwing up all over the place, but for those first couple hours, it's a good time." He aimed for the hoop and missed. "But shit be _volatile_ too, man. You can't pack all them cliques into that gym and not expect a fuckin' rumble to go down."

"Anything real serious ever happen?" Franklin asked him.

"Well, last year Townley caught his girl Amanda with her skirt around her ankles in the locker room if you know what I mean. _Big_ fight broke out after that. And then Barry, you know that stoner, he lit up a joint too close to the decorations. His leg caught fuckin' fire, and so this one kid grabbed the punch bowl and threw it on him to try put it out, but the punch is always 150% alcohol, so the damn fool just made it _worse_." Lamar said all of this casually, his face sincere. "There's also the Wet Toilet Paper Incident of Freshman year, but nobody talks about that."

Franklin smiled. "Sounds real memorable, homie."

"Check it out," said Lamar suddenly. "It's your girl."

Franklin felt a wash of confusion and turned to follow his roommates eyes. It was Tess, tucking her iPod into her pocket and smiling.

"Boys," she greeted them. "Ugh, you're all sweaty."

"I've been kickin' Lamar's ass," Franklin explained.

"Naturally." She smiled. She held out her arms for the ball and Franklin passed it to her. She bounced it twice before throwing it at the hoop. It smacked hard against the frame with a metallic clang, and then fell through the hoop.

Lamar was livid. "Does anyone else suck at basketball or is it just me?"

"Just you." Franklin and Tess said together, and they laughed. Franklin couldn't believe she was their friend after all the bullcrap that had happened last month. He was just happy it was over, and that Tess had dropped her scrappy goons and actually learned what real friendship was. She was a lot nicer now that she wasn't struggling to get Brad and Stretch to stop beating people up. The tension around her eyes had melted away and she smiled more. Franklin liked it when she smiled; simply because she could still be scary as hell and he felt less vulnerable to a smack across the head when she was smiling.

They kept playing for another half hour, until it began to get so warm it felt like they were moving around in hot soup. Franklin collapsed after blocking one of Lamar's shots for the hundreth time, his chest heaving, tiny beads of sweat glistening on his skin. "Fuck this," he said. "Do you guys want to get somethin' to eat?"

Tess shrugged off her sweatshirt and tied it around her waist. "Absolutely. Denny's or Taco Bomb?"

"Denny's," said Franklin. "I still got the shits from the last time we went to Taco Bomb."

She laughed. "Charming. That okay with you, Lamar?"

Lamar had a weird look on his face. Franklin didn't like it. Lamar's eyes seemed to be twinkling with a joke only he seemed to get. "Uh, you know what, I just remembered I gotta finish my English paper. I want to, uh, get it done before the game." His smile was toothy and smug. "You two have fun though."

"Are you sure?" Tess asked.

"Yeah, you go ahead."

She shrugged. "Okay. Come on, Newbie."

Franklin glanced back at Lamar as they left, his eyebrows furrowed. Lamar just winked.

 

* * *

 

Ten minutes later they were installed at a booth in Denny's, sucking down strawberry milkshakes and eating hamburgers. The air-conditioning was on full blast and the place was swarming. Franklin felt strangely awkward. He'd never done anything with Tess that Lamar hadn't also been there for, or Lester or the others. But the food was greasy and good, and after a few minutes, he's settled down.

Are you looking forward to the game?" She asked him around her straw.

He lifted one shoulder. "I guess, but I don't really like football."

"Meh, me either. But hey," something glinted in her eyes that Franklin couldn't help but catch. She smirked. "It should be memorable."

Franklin studied her. "Shit," he said, realizing. "Lamar told you?"

"He did." She almost looked nervous. "Sorry."

"No, it's cool. I woulda told you anyway."

She sat back and pulled at her T-shirt, which was insisting on sticking to her skin. "I can't believe it," she said, "Townley and The Tweaker." She grinned. "Oh my God, bad band name alert."

Franklin chuckled. "It's pretty crazy. I feel like an asshole."

"Steve Haines is the asshole," Tess replied, and her eyes were sincere. " _Not_ you. It was either do what he said or get your butt kicked. They'd probably hire people to do it. God forbid they'd have to touch anyone less well-off than them."

"What's with that Dom kid?"

"Dom?" She paused thoughtfully. "Oh yeah. Beasley. He's in my Calculus class."

"He follows Haines around like a fuckin' dog."

"Dom's dad works for Steve's," Tess told him. "Some hedge-fund management company. Dom's dad follows around Haines's old man too, I've heard. Like father like son." She shakes her head disapprovingly. "The worst part is, Dom is actually kind of _nice_. Don't get me wrong, he's still a fucking idiot who rides his bike off bridges and tries to piss off the mountain lions, but he'll still talk to you, at least. I don't know why he hangs out with Steve, it's fucking embarrassing."

Franklin stared into the goopy pink thickness of his milkshake, thinking. "What would happen if he turned on them?" He asked quietly.

"On who?"

"On the Preppies. On Steve."

Tess sat back and gave him an unreadable look. "I guess... I guess he could cause a lot of trouble in Harrington House." She raised an eyebrow. "Newbie, are you thinking what I think you're thinking?"

"Dom's a doormat for those pricks," Franklin went on. "And he knows it. If somebody managed to piss him off enough... if someone made Dom think that Steve was gonna turn on him, I think Dom would help whoever that was take Steve down."

Tess grinned at him. " _Hypothetically_ speaking though, right?"

"Yeah. Hypothetically, if someone managed to turn Dom against the Preppies, he could do some serious shit as an inside man. Uh, hypothetically."

She smirked. "Too bad there's not anyone around who would be able to do that kind of thing."

"Yeah. It's a shame."

They changed the subject. Franklin asked her about her family, though couldn't help but feel the cogs in his brain turning, churning up ideas and fleeting hopes and 'what ifs'. He felt a curl of curiosity deep in his gut and wondered, hypothetically speaking of course, how beneficial it would be to win Dom Beasley over. How that would disarm Steve Haines and how worthwhile it would be to get somebody on the inside of the clique, somebody who could tear it slowly down, bit by bit, so slowly that nobody realized until it was all over.

Tess wouldn't let him pay for lunch, so instead they went half-and-half. Outside the day had gotten even warmer, and the sky was clear cerulean, dotted with fluffy white clouds. Franklin didn't really want to go back to Bullworth, so they walked around and talked nonsense, and they laughed, and Tess showed him her favourite music store and acted absolutely, incredibly scandalized when Franklin admitted to not knowing most of the bands she gushed about, or to never having listened to the albums she told him about ("They don't really like Springsteen in the hood, Tess"). After a while, they wandered towards the town hall and sat on the steps with ice-cream cones, and Tess took out her iPod and gave him an earbud.

Her music taste, Franklin quickly discovered, was wide and varied, and he liked practically all of it, though the Swedish dubstep was surreal.

He didn't even notice that Trevor Philips had dropped to sit next to him until Tess had torn the earbud from his ear, and was quickly stuffing her iPod back into her pocket, like at any moment Trevor was going to leap across their laps and wrestle it off her. Well, maybe.

"Look at you two," Trevor cooed. He arched an eyebrow at Franklin. "Though I gotta say, the town hall is a weird place for a date, my man."

Tess went red to the roots of her hair. "Shut up, Trevor. We're not on a date. What are you doing here?"

"What? I can't wander around my town? I thought this was _America_ , place of the bald eagle of freedom and all that." He was sweaty and tattered-dressed, his wild hair sticking up in forty different directions. "Haven't seen you since I beat the asses of those two turds," Trevor went on. "You haven't had any trouble?"

"No, man," Franklin replied. "Thanks for that."

"Yeah. Yeah you're welcome. I mean, I _did_ wipe them across the grass for you, I did _save your ass_." He sounded pissed for some reason. Franklin edged closer to Tess. Trevor's grin was lopsided. "I do all that for you, and you don't even come _visit_ me? You don't call me up to hang out with me, and I did all of that for you for free?" People are starting to stare. Trevor dropped his voice to a snarl. "I should put you in the _fucking ground_ , you ungrateful little shit!"

"Whoa, whoa," Franklin growled. "You never gave me any damn phone number, I don't know where the fuck you live--"

"I thought we were _friends_."

"We are friends," Franklin said, giving him an annoyed look. "But I've been er, busy." AKA, _avoiding you like the plague because I am terrified you'll find out that I'm the one who put your secret boyfriend's sanity on the line_. Franklin tried a smile that seemed to make Trevor's shoulders relax. "Are you coming to the game?" he asked.

The minute he said it, he regretted it with a stomach-churning horror that made him shift closer to Tess yet again. He wished the words were physical things floating in front of his face, so that he could grab them and stuff them back inside his mouth, erasing them automatically. He felt Tess stiffen next to him.

Trevor's eyes narrowed, and Franklin held his breath.

"Why would I be going to your stupid school football game?" Trevor asked, in a voice that had an edge of suspicion.

Franklin swallowed. "No... no reason. It's just something to do. You could.. you could come and hang out with us."

"Your dipshit of a principal would have an aneurysm if he saw me anywhere near his precious fuckin' football field." Despite that, Trevor grinned. The expression terrified Franklin. "But are you inviting me, kid?" Franklin gulped. _Say no!_ "I--"

"That's more like it!" Trevor roared, startling a passing elderly woman, who shot him a dirty look he answered with a flip of his middle finger. He smiled brightly at Franklin. "No more one-sided friendship! I'd love to. I can light fires under people's feet."

Franklin could feel the despair radiating off Tess. He couldn't look at her. So he pasted a weak smile on his face and nodded at Trevor. "It's at seven," he told him, "I guess you could just make sure nobody recognizes you."

"I'll see you later then," Trevor said, in a voice that was without threat or violence. He jumped to his feet and saluted. Franklin waited until he had wandered out of sight before he turned to Tess. Her skin was like milk, her expression shuttered.

She reached out and smacked him hard across his shoulder. "What were you thinking?"

"Ow."

"He's coming to the game! The game that Michael is going to _throw_. Don't you think Trevor is going to be _very_ fucking confused and curious as to why Michael's fucking up the easiest game of the season? A game against a team that is so bad they haven't made it past a first or second game since 1963?"

"I know, okay? I panicked."

She scoffed. "Yeah well, you'll definitely be panicking later. That crazy asshole can _sense_ things. He makes me nervous." She fell quiet for a moment, and then grabbed his arm, just above the elbow to make him look at her. "You know what you should do? You should go see Michael before the game and fucking  _beg_ him not to tell Trevor anything."

"Michael don't exactly like me right now."

"He likes you enough to not have set Trevor on you yet," Tess said, and God damn it, she was right. She checked her watch. "The game starts in four hours. Find him quick."

 

* * *

 

Michael was in the living room of the boys dorm. Franklin went back there in the hopes of changing his sweaty clothing, and found the guy he was looking for on the couch with the cracked television screen on. Relieved, Franklin approached the couch cautiously. The movie Michael was watching was old but not too old, the colors slightly grainy and the pixels fuzzy, but that could have been down to the poor quality of the TV. Michael sat in shorts and a button-up, his gaze fixed on the TV, his right hand curled around a soda can.

He flicked his gaze briefly towards Franklin when he felt him hovering there. Then, he went right back to the TV. "What do you want?"

"Just... wonderin' if you were okay," Franklin offered lamely. The living room was empty save for the two of them, though Franklin could hear talking and music from some of the dorm rooms along the hall. Everyone else was out making the most of the surprising heat.

" _Okay?_ " Michael barked out a laugh. "I'm being blackmailed by a rich turd to throw a football game against the Hillview Hawks and embarrass myself in front of the whole school. Yeah kid, I'm peachy."

"I just meant--"

"I know what you meant," Michael cut in, his face hardening. "And frankly, I couldn't give a shit if you're here to apologize or to try and bribe me with somethin' else, because today is officially the worst day of my life, and so I just want to sit here and get lost in an eighties movie and pretend that everything isn't extremely fucked. Okay, kid?"

"Shit, okay." Franklin swallowed. His throat felt weirdly thick. "Then I'll leave you alone, dog. But for the record, I'd never do the shady shit that Steve Haines is pullin' on you, and I've already apologized a hundred times." He turned around and walked towards the door, but Michael's heavy sigh made him stop.

"Wait," he said. "Come back here and sit down."

Franklin did. Michael picked up the battered TV remote and lowered the volume of the movie with some reluctance. He took a long drink from his soda and set it down on the stained coffee table. When he looked at Franklin, his eyes were puffy and sleepy-looking; clear evidence of a sleepless night. "I didn't tell Trevor."

Franklin blinked. "What?"

"That's what you're here for, isn't it? To find out whether or not Trevor is coming after you?" Franklin dropped his gaze to the carpet and Michael snorted. "Yeah, I thought so. It's just what I would do, if I were you." Michael, despite the fact he was morose and clearly exhausted, cracked a small smile. "I didn't tell him. He just thinks some creep saw us, and that it's all over and done with. Which," he sighed, "I wish it was."

"I saw Trevor earlier, man, and I was kinda relieved when he didn't break my neck."

Michael eyebrows reached his hairline. "Are you friends or something?"

"I think so."

Michael laughed. "Well, welcome to the dysfunctional world of Trevor Philips. What did he say?"

"I kind of invited him to the game."

"You did _what?_ " Michael just about lost his mind. His face flushed bright red and his eyes blew up with a mixture of horror and disbelief. "Why the fuck - kid, you're making it very hard for me to like you."

Franklin felt hot. "I'm sorry, alright?"

"Oh, this is just fuckin' great." Michael rubbed a hand over his face. "Now I gotta explain to him why the Hawks beat us. Will beat us. Fuck, whatever."

"I'm sorry."

"I know. God, I guess he's going to find out anyway. It's gonna be all over the papers, my head on a fucking platter." He looked at Franklin hard. "People stop me in the streets you know," he told him. "Talk to me about the games, the team, tell me how great I am. Guess after tonight they'll be stopping me to piss on my shoes."

"It's just one game," Franklin tried. "And, between you and me dog, I've been thinkin' of a way to get back at Steve."

"Oh have you?" Michael said dryly. "Good luck with that."

"I have. And maybe you could help me out with it, when it falls through."

"I just want to get over tonight."

"Yeah, okay. But I'll holler at you."

"Whatever, kid." He looked sideways at Franklin and squinted. "Do you want to watch the rest of the movie with me? I guess I have time to kill."

Franklin felt surprise blossom inside him but nevertheless nodded and swivelled to face the TV. "Sure."

Michael liked eighties movies and pretty much only eighties movies. For the duration of the movie - some grungy underground thing where a flawed but heroic cop saved the day and got the girl - Michael gushed in length about how much he loved them. The music, the plots, the appearance. It all did it for him. Franklin sat and listened, and began to notice that there was a possibility of them becoming friends someday. He didn't know Michael well enough to form an actual opinion about him, but right now, Franklin got the feeling he was a guy that didn't have many friends, and that sitting with somebody and watching a movie was something very rare for him. When the credits started to roll, Michael checked his watch and gave a guttural sigh.

"I have to go warm up," he said miserably. He glanced at Franklin and tried to smile, but it wobbled off his face. "Maybe wear blue anyway, just to keep the morale up."

"Sure."

Michael headed towards the door. The last thing he said was a worried-sounding request over his shoulder. "Keep an eye on Trevor." And then he was gone.

 

* * *

 

The football field looked completely different that night. Its bleachers were packed with students clad head-to-toe in Bullhorn blue-and-white, balancing bottles of root beer and buckets of warm buttery popcorn, screaming their heads off at the field, where the enormous floodlights illuminated the dancing cheerleaders in a pearly glow. The atmosphere was jumping with vitality and color, so much energy that it felt palpable to Franklin as he picked his way carefully through the crowds, searching for Lamar and Tess. The night had gotten even hotter, and he could taste sweat and cigarette smoke in the muggy air. He’d borrowed a Bullhorns jersey off Lamar and it was currently stuck to his back with sweat.

“Franklin!” Someone in the centre seat of the bleacher next to him raised their hand.

It was Tess, sporting two blue stripes of paint across both cheeks. She’d even tied her hair up with a blue-and-white ribbon. She smiled brightly at him when he settled into the empty seat beside her. “Welcome to your first Bullhorns game.”

Beside her, Lamar was going apeshit over the cheerleaders and hadn’t even noticed Franklin had joined them. His Bullhorns sleeveless jersey was about two sizes too big, and he also donned a backwards cap which read, _Let’s Go Bullhorns!_ in large blue letters across the back.

“I had no idea Lamar was such a big football fan,” Franklin mused.

“He’s not,” Tess replied. “None of us are. God no. Who the hell likes football? No, we just do it because of school spirit. For a school that’s so fucking segregated, when it comes to sports, we’re actually really united.”

Franklin looked around. It was a sea of blue-and-white, every face bright and alert, cheers and screams coming from every mouth. It seemed to be the only time the cliques not only sat in close proximity, but actually were a part of something together. Everyone cheering for the same team, regardless of what clique you came from. Looking around at them and knowing that the crowd was going to be sorely disappointed tonight, kind of made Franklin feel like the biggest dick there.

“Did you talk to Michael?” Tess asked him.

“Yeah. He didn’t tell Trevor, and he’s not gonna either.”

“Phew.” She turned her head to smile at him, but her eyes travelled over his shoulder and her lips turned down. “Damn, speak of the Devil. Literally.”

Franklin looked around. Trevor dropped into the seat next to him, his hands shoved into the pockets of a ratty black hoodie, a pair of chunky red square frame sunglasses balanced on the bridge of his nose. He bowed his head and met Franklin’s eyes over the rim of them, grinning like this attempt at a disguise was the most ingenius and foolproof thing he’d ever done.

Lamar leaned over and beamed. “'Ey, crazy dude.”

“Lamar. Raghead.” He nodded at them both in turn. “And Franklin. How are things, kid?”

“Hey, dog. Nobody saw you on your way here, did they?”

“Nah, I jumped the fence. _God_ , will you look at all these turds?” Trevor said loudly, looking around. “What is this place? Smurf village?”

Franklin smiled. “Did you ever go to any football games when you went here, man?”

“Nah, not really. I was only here for a couple months before Weston kicked me out on my ass.”

“And you didn’t want to go home?”

“ _Home?_ ” Trevor snorted. “Where the fuck is home?”

“Hey, I know how it is, homie. I’m the same.”

Trevor grabbed the root beer of the kid sitting in front of them; just reached forward and swiped it. The kid swivelled around to protest, and Franklin watched as his face paled and his eyes widened in fear. Trevor growled at him and took a swig from the bottle. “Something on your mind?” he snarled. The kid shook his head wildly and turned back to face the field, and sat with a bone-rigid stiffness from then on.

“I live in a trailer near the graveyard in Old Bullworth Vale,” Trevor said to the neck of the bottle. He swirled the liquid around and took another sip. “That’s home. Has been for the past two years.” He looked at Franklin. “My _friends_ come see me.”

“Well then, I’ll, uh, come by.”

Trevor brightened. “Good. People like us gotta stick together, kid. Or else we’ll be swallowed up by these bastards.”

Franklin liked Trevor. He was an impetuous, violent maniac, but Franklin liked him. He knew what it was like to not have a place to call home, to feel as though you’d been locked out of your own life. He was petrified of the man, but if he stayed on his good side, Trevor might end up being a good friend. Someone he could depend on when things went to shit. Maybe someone who would help him take down Steve Haines.

A sudden roar of noise silenced Franklin from asking Trevor anything else, as the crowd around him shot to their feet and started to go ballistic. Franklin stumbled awkwardly to his feet, straining to see over the shoulders of the annoyingly tall people in front of him. Through a gap he managed to see the Bullhorns, running out onto the field all dressed in their gear. Michael led them. Franklin picked him out easily, as Michael had a certain way of moving that was rather unique; hunched-over and serious, the kind of movement that got attention. 

The cheers turned to boos and expletives as a second team clad in red-and-black ran onto the field. Franklin looked at them and finally understood why everyone was so dismissive of the Hillview Hawks. Each player couldn’t have been much taller than him. They were also clumsy and awkward on their feet. Their helmets looked too big for their heads, wobbling with every step they took.

“What the fuck?” Trevor barked out a laugh. “Bobbleheads!”

The Bullhorns went into a huddle and the noise amplified. Franklin applauded with the rest of the crowd, and watched as Coach Quinn accosted the huddle and screamed at them. He could hear her words from where he stood: “ _Mince meat!_ Make mince meat out of them, you fucking morons! I want you to _bleed!_ Give everything you got out on that field today!”

The Hawks looked nervous. Their huddle was short and their coach stood miserably to the side of it, didn’t say a word until the Hawks broke apart, and then he put a hand on one of the smallest players of the team and pushed him forward. The player ambled awkwardly towards Michael and Coach Quinn.

“That’s their fucking quarterback?” Franklin said in surprise. “He’s two foot nothin’!”

Tess leaned over and whispered in his ear, “Which is why this defeat is going to be all the more mortifying.”

Franklin’s stomach sank. He looked at Trevor. The taller boy had his hazel brown eyes fixed on Michael. They followed him across to the centre of the field, where Michael stood bouncing on the balls of his feet, at least giving the impression that he wanted to win this. The sight of the Hawks quarterback next to him was almost laughable – Michael wasn’t that tall, but he was burly. It looked like he could crush the Hawks quarterback with his thumb. They shook hands, Coach Quinn in the middle. She gave the Hawks coach an aggressive handshake that definitely rattled a few teeth loose, then blew the whistle. The crowd cheered again. Franklin realized, to his horror, that the bleachers suddenly began to erupt into one, unifed shout: “Michael! Michael! Michael!”

Franklin didn’t need to see Steve to know that the Preppie was smiling from ear to ear.

 

* * *

 

 

The Bullhorns lost, and it was awful.

Michael was a good actor though, Franklin gave him that. For the first half, Michael managed to try without actually trying. He would always get posession of the ball, and his steps were always quick and energetic, but at the last minute he would fumble or make a mistake, and it was all over. The rest of the team weren’t up to his par, so when he started to lose, they all did. The first half was brutal, but the second was excruticating. Michael let himself get tackled, he dropped the ball or didn’t make much of an effort to catch it.

The crowd was livid. The cheers turned to boos, people actually threw drinks. On the sidelines, Coach Quinn was actually and literally pulling her hair out, stomping on the freshly-mown grass and screeching at the top of her lungs. Franklin spent the whole game slouched in his seat with a hand over his face. Lamar and Tess copied him, though they were a little more vocal, cursing at the field and booing, but all in an effort to not look suspicious. Franklin couldn’t bring himself to look at Trevor, but when he did, he always regretted it.

Trevor didn’t say anything at all. Not during the game, not even at halftime. He sat, stiff as a board, his fists clenched so tightly on his lap that his knuckles had turned ivory. He’d pushed his sunglasses to the top of his head, and he never took his gaze off Michael. His eyes were hard, blazing with a look that was deeply unhinged.

The final whistle blew and with it, brought a tidal wave of groans, gasps and strings of curse words. The Hawks, who had played terribly, looked more astonished than the Bullhorns fans. They disappeared off the field pretty quickly, which Franklin regarded as a smart decision, seeing as the crowd was starting to get restless.

“What the fuck was that, Townley?” Someone yelled from the bottom of the bleachers.

Michael pulled off his helmet and _launched_ it at the guy. It smacked the side of his head and the guy crumpled to the ground. Nobody helped him up, for everyone had suddenly fell silent. The crowd watched as Michael ran a hand through his sweaty hair and stormed towards the locker rooms. His teammates followed miserably.

The crowd began to move shortly after that. Lamar led the way up the steps and out into the gym’s courtyard. Franklin was relieved, it had started to become really claustraophobic. Trevor stood silent and stormy at Franklin’s side. There was an awkward moment where nobody knew quite what to say.

It was Lamar who finally spoke. “So, uh, that was… yeah.”

Tess swallowed. “Very… yeah.”

“Should we…?” Lamar nodded back towards the field. “I’m up for some Righteous Slaughter. Do you, uh, do you like video games, Trevor?”

Trevor didn’t answer. He raised his head, and his sunglasses made his expression unreadable. All Franklin could see were the hard lines of his face, the scowl twisted on his lips. He was pissed and confused, like the rest of the school. Franklin was about to ask him to tag along to the observatory, just because he had no idea what else to say, when the doors of the gym _burst_ open and Michael came charging out.

For one long, very frightning moment, Franklin thought Michael was going to hit him. Michael was stomping towards him with his fists clenched, his face furious and livid. He looked like a wild animal; wild-eyed and panting, wearing a sweaty white undershirt, his football pants and boots still on. The pants were stained green, and clumps of mud stuck to the underside of the shoes.

But when he reached Franklin, Michael didn’t hit him. He just stood there and stared into his eyes, his breath coming quick. “Kid,” he said, in a voice that was like gravel and rumbling with anger. “You said you wanted to take down Steve Haines. I’m in.”

There was a moment of stunned silence before Franklin spoke. “Yeah. Okay.”

Michael glanced at Trevor, but in a way that was clear he didn’t know it was Trevor until he did a double-take and his eyes went wide. “T?”

“Michael.”

“You actually came,” Michael said, with the smallest of glances towards Franklin. His anger seemed to melt away at the sight of Trevor standing there, replaced by a stunned breathlessness. “Uh, hey.”

Trevor was eerily calm. “Why are you taking down Steve Haines?”

Another wordless moment passed. Michael swallowed. “It’s—“

“There’s something you’re not telling me,” Trevor cut in. He hardened. “What the _fuck_ aren’t you telling me?”

“Calm down, T,” Michael said, raising his hands. “It’s just somethin’ of an unfortunate circumstance. Me and the kid – Franklin is gonna help me. Help us.”

“Us?” Trevor repeated. “What are you talking about?”

Michael flushed. Franklin felt sick. Why had he invited Trevor again? He deserved this. When the truth came out and Trevor’s fist would smash against his jaw, he would deserve it.

“I’m being blackmailed. Or, I _was_ blackmailed, to throw the game tonight.” Michael was speaking slowly, carefully, choosing every word like it was something sacred. “Haines’s old man bet money on the Hawks to win. I had no choice.”

“ _No choice?_ ” Trevor was enraged. “Why the fuck did you not have a choice?”

“Remember the other night?” Michael whispered. Trevor fell quiet. “Yeah, well, turns out our little peeping tom was—“ He stopped. Franklin froze.

“Was _who?_ ” Trevor demanded. “Who the fuck was it?”

Michael flicked his gaze to Franklin for half a second, and then he turned back to Trevor and opened his mouth. “Steve,” he answered. “It was Steve.”

Franklin gaped at him. Michael went on on, “Steve… Steve took a picture of us, uh, you remember? And then he blackmailed me. The kid,” he pointed to Franklin, “Franklin, he… found out, and he’s going to get back at Steve. I’m going to help him.”

Trevor turned his intense eyes on Franklin. “You’re going to take him down?”

Franklin’s mouth had gone so dry that it was a struggle to get the words out. “Yeah. I… yeah. And, uh, you can help.”

Trevor nodded. He stood up straighter. “Abso-fuckin’-lutely,” he said. “Let’s grab that slimy piece of shit and turn him inside out.”

Michael hooked Franklin’s gaze. Franklin didn’t know what to say, how to look, so he just nodded. Michael nodded back. An unspoken thank you passed between them and when Franklin looked at Lamar and Tess, they were smiling. If today had taught Franklin anything, it was that Steve Haines's manipulative reign of terror was slowly coming to an end. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A nice long chapter to make up for the slight delay. I hope you all had a wonderful Easter! A thousand thank yous (AND COOKIES!) for continuing to read this story and for basically being kick ass human beings. It's a blast to talk to you all and to write this AU, so thank you. 
> 
> In other news: Steve is a (hot) dickhead and Trevor wants blood. Nothing new. Ha - I hope you enjoyed this one, let me know what you think! <3


	11. Mr. Clique Fucker-Upper

 

The dark came in pieces that Monday evening, chunks of navy and black swallowing up the sky as Franklin made his way through Old Bullworth Vale, his chin tucked into chest against the icy breeze. A drunken homeless man yelled out an obscenity at him as he passed by, while another man on the opposite side of the street flipped him his middle finger and stared at him for a little too long. Franklin wondered why he had come alone. He quickened his pace, splashed through puddles, and raised his head to check for a signpost. He saw the next best thing - the cemetery itself, right at the end of the street, its shadows surrounded by a high, black iron fence. He took a deep breath of cold evening air and started towards it.

The day had been a sombre one. If Franklin had thought the mood after the game had been miserable, it was nothing compared to today. The front entrance and the hallways seemed bare without the balloons and the posters, the walls naked save for their crumbling paint. There had been no crowd around Michael this morning, either. In fact, there had been nobody around Michael at all. When Franklin had walked into the front entrance this morning, he saw the quarterback sitting on the stairs with his chin in his hand, an exhausted air about him. All day, he slammed doors and stormed from classroom to classroom, shoving kids out of the way and making others cower back in fear. In Shop, Mr. Yetarian had actually said the words, "Michael, I think it would be better for all of us if you stayed away from the power tools, yes? Get out of here and take a nap, go on. You're excused."

Franklin avoided him. He knew Michael wanted to be left alone to simmer, until he realized it was just one game and he would be able to get over it. As for right now, though, it was like being close to a mine. The slightest wrong move, and he would blow up.

The cemetery was flooded with darkness and was just about the scariest place Franklin had ever walked through in his life. He caught glimpses of the rounded, marble headstones as he passed by them and saw that they were all very old, haphazardly placed; the names chipped away and half-faded, all of the flowers shrivelled-up and dead. The grass was wet and slippery under his feet as he picked his way carefully through, the cold raising goose bumps on his skin. He squinted through the shadows, staring hard into the murky blackess to where the stretch of cemetery ended, and a chewed-up gravel path began. It twisted up to a hill, on top of which glowed a window. A single point of light in the darkness.

Franklin bounded up the path, the gravel crunching underneath his shoes. He cast a glance over his shoulder and saw Bullworth town looking back at him. Old Bullworth Vale, right in front of him, was a broken-up mess, but beyond it, way on the other side of town, expensive homes glowed bright and inviting. The gap between rich and poor was suddenly very obvious. Franklin headed higher up the grassy hill, and slowly, a small bulky shape began to form in front of him.

A cluttered-looking trailer, old and peeling at the edges, surrounded by a low chain-link fence. The front yard, if you could even call it that, was littered with spare tyres, bricks and empty, broken beer bottles, so that Franklin had to carefully avoid getting a glass splinter to the foot as he moved towards the front door. He suddenly felt grateful for the boys dormitory - how in God's name could anyone live in a place like this? Not that Franklin hadn't lived in some truly tragic places over the years, but still. He turned and watched as a rat scurried across the yard, something small and twitching clutched in his mouth. He shuddered, raised his fist, a rapped twice on the door.

There were sounds of banging around from the inside, a curse or two, and then the door was pulled open and Trevor appeared, wearing soiled sweatpants and a loose-flowing orange vest. He looked surprised to see Franklin.

"What's up, Trevor?" Franklin tried a smile. He still wasn't entirely sure why he had decided to come here tonight. The school had been depressing, and he hadn't felt like homework, and maybe it was about time that he got to know Trevor better. So here he was. "I, uh, said I'd come by, remember?"

"Sure I fucking do." Trevor's grin was bright and excited. "Nice to know you're a friend. Get in here, kid, you look like you need a beer."

Inside, it was just like the outside - dingy, cluttered and filthy, but with a weird comfort that Franklin couldn't quite put his finger on. A busted television set that had clearly been swiped from somebody's yard sale was showing an old episode of _Republican Space Rangers_ , while a small, wooden table boasted a case of Pißwasser and an ash tray of still-smouldering cigarettes. Franklin saw a tiny bedroom to his left, complete with a closet that didn't seem to hold that many clothes. The kitchen was limited to a grimy stove, a few greasy counter tops and a drab refrigerator with a broken handle. A threadbare couch sat opposite it, a scratchy afghan folded over the arm. As well as this, posters adorned the walls. Posters of scantily-clad women, posters of totally naked women, and a poster of --

"What the fuck?" Franklin squinted at the wall just opposite him. "Trevor, where did you get that?"

"What, this?" Trevor followed his gaze and ran a hand leisurely down the poster, smoothing out the air bubbles. "I _borrowed_ it from that school of yours. They aren't going to miss it! You had like two hundred of them." Franklin stared at the poster of Michael that hung on the wall, the same one that had adorned every hallway in the school building leading up to the game, where Michael smiled softly underneath an enormous, blue-and-white _Let's Go Bullhorns!_ insignia. The corners were torn and tattered, clearly showing Trevor had ripped it off one of the walls.

Trevor was staring at the poster with an unreadable look. "Fat turd," he said finally, "Letting himself be blackmailed. I mean, seriously?" He sighed and moved towards the case of beer, but then stopped. "How old did you say you were?"

"Sixteen, but fuck that man, I'll drink if you got some."

"I got a lot." Trevor picked up a bottle and tossed it to him. He smiled. "I remember my first drink." He uncapped a beer for himself and took a swig. "I was six. The beginning of a long love affair."

Franklin's eyes widened, but he said nothing. The beer was slightly warm and tasted, as always, like frothy horse piss, but it took away the dry rasp in his throat from the cold outside. Franklin eased down onto the couch and nodded at the poster. "Does Michael know you got that, dog?"

"Yup. He was just here, actually."

"He was?"

"Yeah. Amanda - you know Amanda?" A scowl worked its way onto Trevor's face. "His _girlfriend_ \--" He said it like it was something dirty. "She's all bent out of shape because of the game, gave him shit about being a loser. I guess he came here to drown his sorrows."

Franklin rested his chin on the top of the bottle and hesitated. "So it's like that, huh?" he said. "You and Michael are..."

"Yeah, me and Michael _are_. And me and Michael _have_ for a long time." Trevor's eyes narrowed. "How did you find out, anyway?"

"Uh, Steve," Franklin said quickly. "He, after he... took the pictures, he told me."

Trevor growled. "Fuckin' weasel. How'd you get involved with him in the first place?"

"Just, uh, one of those things, man." He cleared his throat awkwardly. "When I found out about the photos, though, I wanted to get back at him for that shit. That's how I know Michael."

"Makes sense," Trevor mused, and Franklin breathed a sigh of relief that he really hoped the other boy didn't hear. Trevor made a sound of annoyance. " _God_ , you know I remember that rich-kid fuck when I was at Bullworth? I wanted to rip his head off then, too."

"How long did you say you were there, again?"

"Just a couple months. September to January."

"Why'd you get kicked out?"

"Oh, it was a whole list of things really. That yogi shithead, Weston, he doesn't have much patience." Trevor sniffed. "There were some fires."

" _Fires?_ "

"And a couple teachers had some accidents. Accidents that had _nothing_ to do with me, for the record," said Trevor, but Franklin didn't really believe him. After a few long seconds of silence, Trevor glanced down at the beer in his hand and spoke again, but this time, his voice was unusually quiet. "I met Michael in a hallway."

"What happened?"

"He bumped into me, because he's an _obnoxious fuck_ , and I of course demanded an apology. He didn't feel like givin' one, had his head up his ass as usual, surrounded by his steroid monkey buddies. So some fists were thrown, a couple kicks. Nothing major. I did give him a black eye, though."

Franklin snorted. "Love at first sight, huh?"

"Something like that. Anyway, a couple of weeks later, I bumped into him again outside the movie theatre. I was shaking kids down for money, but he was there to see one of his stupid action movies. We ended up going to it together."

Franklin quirked an eyebrow. "And?"

" _And_ we got to talkin', figured out that we had a lot more in common than we thought," Trevor answered. "We both hate ourselves and have shitty dads, for example." He tapped his fingers idly against the beer label. "We started fucking pretty soon after that. Motels, the clubhouse, back of the boys dorm. I got kicked out a few months later but it didn't stop us." His face suddenly brightened. "When he graduates, he's going to get one of those football scholarships, and we're gonna get as far away from here as we possibly fucking can. We got _plans_ , kid. All this is only temporary."

Franklin gestured around them. "And this place?"

"It was just sitting here. I’d just been tossed out on my ass, and calling my mother was…not an option. And I always wanted my own place,” Trevor said cheerfully. “I met those other guys – Ron, Cletus, Wade and Maude – I met them a while later. All drop outs, misunderstood by the world. Like _me_.”

"And here you are."

"And here I fucking am."

Franklin couldn’t imagine living all the way up here by yourself, friends or no friends. Old Bullworth Vale had a soul-sucking element to it; there was something perpetually dreary and cold about the place, and he had a feeling that the longer you stayed here, the more you lost yourself. He glanced at the poster of Michael again and wondered about a lot of things. He wondered if he was ever going to end up in a place like this.

If Franklin got kicked out of Bullworth in the morning, he’d probably have to stay here too. Denise might not even pick up the phone. Did that make him like Trevor? It was a gloomy prospect.

"What about you?" Trevor interrupted his reverie. The taller boy slid down onto the floor, his back against the fridge, facing him.

"I didn’t really have anywhere else to go, dog," Franklin told him. "I’ve had my issues with school in the past. It was either Bullworth or military school."

“Jesus."

"Yeah."

"No, I mean, _jesus_ , I would have picked military school," Trevor retorted. "That place is a cess pool. I’m glad they fucking kicked me out."

"Yo, at the moment, it’s pretty hard, man. Steve is making me do all this shit for him."

" _That_ rich fuck again?" Trevor’s jaw clenched. "What does he want you to do?"

"Mess up those Greasers kids’ bikes," said Franklin. "They fucked with one of his friends."

Trevor grinned. "The Greasers, eh? Well, I wouldn’t say no to that."

Franklin raised his eyebrows. "You wanna help me?"

"Kid, let’s get something straight," Trevor said, suddenly serious. "I don’t _help_ anyone, you don’t help anyone in this world. You only do things if you get something out of ‘em, ain’t no other reason. I fucked up Brad and Stretch because I’ve been wanting to do that for a long time, it wasn’t just for you. And the _Greasers_ ," Trevor’s hand curled around the beer bottle, as tight as an anaconda. Anger surged behind his eyes. "I _abhor_ those leathery asswipes! Abhore. Ridin’ around town on their stupid fucking bikes, thinking they’re so tough… they are asking to get put down—"

"Whoa, hold on, dog. Ain’t nobody getting put down," Franklin said quickly. "Maybe if we just mess with the bikes first. Bleed ‘em out, burst the tires."

"Sounds fair. But if you ever need Johnny Klebitz’s head on a stick, you call me."

"Fuck, will do, man."

"Good." Trevor drained the rest of his bottle and launched it across the room, where it hit the far wall and burst into a hundred pieces, the glass shards falling to the floor like rain. Trevor grinned. "God, I love that sound."

Franklin finished his beer, waited for the burn in his throat to ease before he lifted the bottle above his head and gave Trevor a hopeful look. The other boy cackled. "Go for it, squirt."

Franklin threw the bottle across the room and it shattered, adding to the pile of glass underneath. He cracked a smile. Maybe this place wasn’t so bad after all. Trevor had independence, freedom. There were no aunts around to nag him about cleaning his room or strange men hogging the remote. He could do whatever he wanted, go where he pleased. Franklin had always longed for the same kind of freedom.

"When shall we do this great bike fuckery?" Trevor asked him, in an amused voice. "I’m free whenever."

"Gimme a couple days, I’ll call you."

"You better."

 

* * *

 

Slowly, day by day, things returned to normal at Bullworth. Or at least they returned to whatever brand of ‘normal’ that the school usually was. Michael no longer stomped around the campus with a face like a cyclone, and had started to hold Amanda’s hand on the way to class again. He didn’t speak to Franklin, but did send him small, curt nods every now and then. Just to show he was alright, that he was getting through it with his teeth gritted.

The excitement leading up to the first game of the season was soon replaced by Halloween fever. Halloween at Bullworth was the single most-important event of the school year, according to Lamar, as it was the one night that Principal Weston left the campus, to attend some big party upstate, leaving behind a chaotic student body to do whatever they pleased. It was also the same night as the Halloween dance.

"Who are you gonna ask?" Lamar asked him one Thursday evening, when the two were in Bullworth town, going shop-to-shop in the hopes of finding someone who would fix Lamar’s bike for next to nothing. The response wasn’t exactly overwhelming.

"Ask where?"

"To the dance, homie! Where’s your head at? You gotta snap up somebody real quick, or else you’re gonna have to go by your damn self. Or worse," Lamar shuddered. "You might have to ask Tonya. You know, that raggedy-ass cheerleader?"

"Fuck you, man. I’ll get someone. Who are _you_ taking?"

"Me?" Lamar looked almost offended. "Bitch, I don’t _gotta_ ask. You’ll see, bitches can’t resist a Jedi brain."

Franklin snorted. "Yeah, whatever dog."

"I’m telling you, F. They flock."

"I bet."

They crossed the street, the bike ticking between them. "Yo," said Lamar, "let’s try that sports shop in Crescent Heights. Take the track."

In the soft afternoon light, the track was almost serene. Franklin remembered walking it with Lamar over a month ago, preparing for the race against Tess. It seemed like a lifetime ago. It was all still the same, the dusty, beaten path flanked by wildflowers and wildgrass, trees shivering their golden-brown leaves at them as they passed by.

Lamar leaned down to squeeze the bike’s front wheel, groaning. "Man, you fucked this up real hard."

"I said I was sorry, man."

"Maybe we can get our hands on one of them Greaser bikes," Lamar mused. "I could go _hard_ on one of those. Think about it. We sneak in, we fuck a couple up, we _liberate_ one for ourselves."

"I’m not sure about that, dog."

"Man, Steve is payin’ you fuck all for all you’ve been doing. Makes sense that you should be able to take somethin’ for yourself."

"Speaking of,” Franklin began, "I saw Trevor the other day, and he’s on board for fucking up the Greaser bikes with us."

"Aw shit, really?" Lamar’s face folded into a frown. "I thought it was just gonna be a you and me thing, homie."

"The more people we got, the better the outcome."

"I don’t know," Lamar replied worriedly, "Crazy Dude don’t strike me as the type o’ individual to sneak in anywhere, all smooth-like."

Franklin shook his head. “We’re doing it with him. I guess all we need now is the word from Steve."

"Fuck that janky asshole,” Lamar snapped. "Ordering us around like some kind of—" he broke off, stopped walking, and put his hand on Franklin’s shoulder. "Hold up, dog, do you hear that?"

Franklin listened. For a few moments, all he heard was the soft rustling of the shrubbery and the distant rattle of car engines from the nearby road. But then he heard it – a high-pitched wail, coming from the deepest part of the woods. Franklin felt the back of his neck prickle with goose bumps.

The wail grew louder, a sharp and bloodcurdling shriek of pain.

"What the fuck?" Lamar hissed, his grip tightening on Franklin’s shoulder, nails biting into his skin. "D'you hear it now?"

"Yeah, I hear it. Sounds like some girl is in trouble."

The screaming kept on. Lamar cast a nervous glance towards the woods. "Could be mountain lions," he mumbled, "We can’t be fuckin’ with no mountain lions, F. I got a damn Physics test tomorrow."

"So what, we just leave her? Fuck that, man." Franklin started to ascend the slope of the hills, holding onto branches for balance. He looked back at Lamar, just as another wail billowed outwards through the trees. His stomach did an uneasy flip. "Come on, dog, get your ass up here."

Lamar followed, though reluctantly, his eyes wide and unblinking as he lays his bike on the ground and moves toward Franklin. The two of them hurried up the slope, dodging trees, pushing low branches out of their way as they headed further and further into the woods. It was a riot of color – Autumn golds, browns, dark bottle-glass greens and amber yellows. The fading sunlight peeked through the gaps between the trees, ready to say goodnight. Franklin had a nervous image of being lost here during the night, and felt his heart pound hard inside his chest. But they were nearly there, the scream was getting clearer. The girl sounded like she was in agony.

"Hello?" Franklin shouted out, cupping his hands around his mouth. " _Hey!_ Where are you?"

A groan, just ahead of them. Franklin crunched through leaves and twigs, and saw a hunched-up figure sitting underneath a cedar. He ran towards them, heart hammering. He reached the figure, and stopped.

Lamar reached him, looked down, and sighed. " _Man_ ," he said, "What the fuck?"

"Dom?" Franklin gave the boy an up-and-down. "Dog, we thought you were a chick."

"Well, _sorry_ to disappoint you!" Dom snapped, a tremor in his voice. His windbreaker was torn at the sleeves, and his right leg was bent at an awkward, unnatural-looking angle. Dom tipped his head back and scowled up at them. "I’ve been screaming for hours! I-I thought… I thought I was—"

"Look man, relax." Franklin bent down. "What the fuck were you doing out here?"

"Before you say anything, I am not an adrenalin junkie!" Dom said hysterically, "I’m a _control junkie_. It’s different, okay?" He sighed. "I go on hikes here a lot. I was climbing the tree, just to see how high I could make it, you know? But I fuckin’ slipped and went down."

"And your leg?"

"Broken – _ow_ , definitely broken."

"Man, that’s your own fucking fault," Lamar said angrily. "Damn idiot. Remember last year? That paragliding thing, off the fuckin’ school roof?"

"Looking back on that, I now realize that it had its issues."

" _Issues?_ " Lamar barked out a laugh. "Dog, you were in a full body cast for months! F, fuck this suicidal motherfucker, all the shit the Preppies put us through, and now he wants our help."

"Hey bro, you can’t bail on me!" Dom said fiercely. "There are some fucking weirdos in these hills!" He hooked Franklin’s gaze, and held it desperately. "Please, bro, I’m begging you here!"

"We can’t leave him out here, dog" Franklin said to Lamar. "Look, you take one arm and I’ll take the other."

"Fuck, thank you!"

Lamar sighed and bent down to Dom’s level. Dom threw an arm around his shoulder, and then put the other around Franklin. Together, the two of them pulled Dom slowly upright. Dom tried to lean on his right leg, but suddenly crumpled, crying out in pain.

"One of us is gonna have to carry him," said Franklin.

" _One_ of us, huh?” Lamar snorted. His face was thunderous as he draped Dom over one shoulder, fire-fighter style. "Fuck my life, man."

When they got back to the path, they put Dom on the bike in such a way that he could lean back and rest his right leg on the handlebars. It wasn’t ideal, but it was the best they had.

"Now we gotta wheel this dumbass all the way back to Harrington House," Lamar complained.

Dom’s face was flushed with pain. "Could you, uh, maybe take me to the hospital? I don’t think a couple of painkillers is gonna fix the _fucking broken bone in my leg_."

"That’s all the way across town!" Lamar yelled.

"Take it easy, Lamar. Dom, you want us to wait with you?"

" _Us?_ " Lamar tried to say, but Dom cut him off.

"That’d be cool of you, bro. Thank you."

And that is how Franklin found himself sitting in the emergency room of Bullworth’s Sacred Heart General Hospital with Dom Beasley. Dom sat on the examination table in a hospital gown, his face screwed up in pain as a doctor fussed at his leg, putting it in a cast. Dom was on a first-name basis with almost all of the doctors. Unsurprisingly.

"Man," Dom said, "what a _rush_."

Franklin’s lips twitched. "You’re fucking insane, do you know that?"

"Maybe, but I guarantee that I am more alive than anyone in that school!"

Lamar remained unimpressed. "You won’t be if you kill your damn self."

Dom scowled at him. " _Duh_. Still, thank God you guys came along when you did. I’ll tell Steve about this, bros. Thank you."

"Yeah, Steve." Franklin said, trying his best to sound casual. He twidled his thumbs and nodded at Dom. "He a real good friend of yours, huh?"

"Oh, best friend. Yeah, best friend since freshman year. Our dads are close." Franklin had the feeling Dom’s father wouldn’t agree. "He’s a good guy."

Lamar scoffed. Dom shot him a glare.

"Oh, alright," Franklin mumbled, moving his eyes to nowhere in particular. "I was just wondering."

Dom’s eyes shifted to him. "What?"

"I just meant… man, you say that you two are tight, but he don’t… he treats you like shit, dog. Orderin’ you around and stuff."

Dom looked confused. "That’s the way it works, bro."

"But you don’t have to take that shit, homie."

Lamar gave him an odd look, and a tilt of the head that seemed to say, _Oh, I see what you’re doing_.

Franklin hooked Dom’s gaze again and smiled pleasantly. "I’m just sayin’, if he actually liked you, he wouldn’t boss you the fuck around the way he does. I mean, fuck, remember he sent you to find me?"

Dom’s eyes narrowed. "So?"

" _So_ , he sent you to a part of the campus where you could get your ass kicked, you said so yourself."

"Yeah, but—"

"And he sent you by yourself. And damn, he snaps his fingers and you come running, like some kind of fuckin’ dog."

Dom’s face went pink. "Not all the time," he mumbled lamely.

Lamar was shaking his head, but he had a weird smile on his face. Dom was looking at Franklin as though he was suddenly extremely interesting, and he’d never noticed that before. Franklin knew that he had piqued his interest; now all he had to do was hold onto it for as long as he could.

"Friends don’t treat other friends like that," Franklin went on. "I mean, if I was you? I’d stand up for myself."

"Stand…up for myself?"

"Or at least, you know, get back at Steve for all the shit he does. Give him a taste of his own medicine." Franklin tipped his head back against the wall and sighed. “But, whatever man. I’m not you. I was just callin’ it as I saw it."

Dom was quiet for the rest of the time they were there. He was bandaged up, given crutches and a bottle of painkillers, and sent on his merry way with a stern, " _Mr. Beasley, please try to stay out of our emergency room for at least a week._ "

Dom hailed a cab at the curb and turned back to give Franklin an unreadable look before he climbed inside. "I guess I’ll see you around," he said. "Thanks again."

"Yeah, it’s cool, dog."

Rain began to drip from the steel-wool sky by the time the cab had rounded the corner. Lamar clamped a hand down on Franklin’s shoulder and chuckled. "You sly, sly, _sly_ motherfucker!"

Franklin smiled. "Dom’s our best option for hitting back at the Preppies," he explained. "Maybe it’s good he fell out of that damn tree."

"You a _sadistic_ motherfucker," Lamar said, "but damn, that was some cunning shit in there. Do you think it’ll work?"

"If we keep at him, hopefully."

"Homie, they should give you a fuckin’ title," Lamar quipped, grabbing his bike from where he’d leaned it against the front entrance wall of the hospital. "Like, ‘Mr. Clique Fucker-Upper’ or like, ‘Franklin, the clique destroyer’."

"You full of shit, L." They set off down the street, hoods pulled up to shield against the icy rain.

Lamar sighed after a few steps. "Guess it's time we make a move on the Greasers."

"I guess so."

"Mr. Clique Fucker-Upper will strike again!"

Franklin laughed. “Man, fuck you.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dom is a sweetie. And a fucking idiot. But what can you do?
> 
> I think it's safe to say this will be updated at weekends from now on, as my final exams (sob) come closer. I'd rather work on a chapter all week to make sure it's good, than hurriedly slap something half-decent up every few days. I appreciate your patience and your general awesomeness. :) Thank you for the feedback, it motivates me to keep going. 
> 
> Hope you enjoyed this one. May the Fourth be with you! ;)


	12. Greasemonkey

 

It was one of those rare days, when the air was crisp and fresh but not at all cold. The powder blue sky was visible through the wide floor-to-ceiling windows of the observatory's upper floor, where Franklin sat next to Tess on one of the colorful sofas, an earbud for each of them. The Swedish dubstep had been replaced by something folksy and quiet, and it suited the mood perfectly as the two of them sat there, watching Lester's controller jerk with rage every time either Rickie or Jay obliterated his character. It was weird, but there was something about the blood-and-guts pixels on the screen that Franklin now associated with comfort, with peace, with feeling safe among friends.It was another literal fight to the death, and the three boys were really engrossed. Lester was actually sweating.

"I've been thinking about going dark," said Tess suddenly, and Franklin turned to look at her. She had a lock of her glossy, crimson hair coiled tight around her finger. "It used to be blue," she went on, "Before Weston brought in his 'no individuality or freedom' rule."

"Nah, don't change it," Franklin answered. "Red suits you."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. Although damn, I would've liked to see you when you were blue."

"It was intense," Tess laughed. "I looked like a mermaid." She smiled and started to scroll down her music library, humming along to the song they were listening to. Franklin kept his gaze on her, wondering how often she changed her hair color, or at least thought about changing it; wondering if that curl around her finger was as soft as it looked. His throat felt weirdly thick and he cleared it, just as there was an enormous explosion and burst of gunfire on the television screen, and the players yelled out.

"Did you see that? Oh my God, I totally  _domed_  ya!" Lester shouted gleefully, still attacking the buttons even though ' _Player KingLester314 Wins_ ' was flashing on-screen like a neon sign. 

"All I saw was Rickie's character blowing himself up," Jay quipped. "Rickie, you are so bad at this game that you're character actually committed suicide."

"Shut _up_ , bro!"

Lamar and Paige were at some AP Calculus class, and outside the observatory doors, the campus was quiet. The Bullhorns were at a practice on the field, and even though they were right outside, their muffled shouts might as well have been inaudible. The day had been rather eventful, so Franklin was grateful for this moment of downtime. Most of the commotion had been caused in Chemistry, when Chef was late to class and the students felt his absence was a good opportunity to wreak havoc. When their teacher finally did arrive, fifteen minutes late with a flushed face, Chef had walked in to find most of the class gathered around a spiky-haired boy, who was about to mix two compounds that Franklin was positive should  _not_ be mixed together, and he wasn't even that good at Chemistry. Chef had erupted and sent the boy to Weston's office, along with another guy who was filming the whole thing on his phone and chanting, "Do it for the vine!"

Franklin was surprised Bullworth was still open, going by the amount of nutcases that seemed to go here. He glanced at Tess again and recounted the story.

When she was finished laughing, Tess grinned at him and said, "That's just the excitement over Halloween. There's no Halloween quite like Bullworth's."

"I can imagine," said Franklin. "Lamar was tellin' me about the shit that goes down at the dance."

"Ugh, the dance."

"You're not going?"

She shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe. Depends who asks me." There was something there, something in her voice, but Franklin didn't have a chance to investigate, as Lester let out a snort and turned around to shoot Franklin an amused look.

"You won't be going either, Franklin, if the Greasers get a hold of you," he teased. "Messing with their bikes? I really thought Haines would have bigger aspirations."

"I don't really see them around," Franklin replied. "The Greasers, I mean."

"Sure you don't," Rickie said, "They, like,  _never_ go to class."

"All they do is ride their bikes and do drugs," Jay said. "I don't know how Weston hasn't expelled Johnny Klebitz yet. I think he's scared of him." 

"Johnny," Franklin repeated slowly. "That big guy, with the buzz cut?"

Jay sniggered. "He's been a Senior for, like, the past five years. It's pathetic."

"You gotta be careful around him. He has a short fuse, a real short fuse," Lester added. "The Greasers and the Preppies hate each other even more than the Jocks and Preppies do," he explained. "You won't ever see Steve near the auto shop. He'd be torn apart."

Franklin was intrigued. "Anything else I should know? Other than to stay the hell out of Klebitz's way?"

"If you want to stay out of Johnny's radar, stay the  _fuck_ away from Ashley," Jay answered. "You know, Ashley? Skinny chick, red hair? Stinks like a meth lab?" 

"Are they together or something?"

"It's very on and off," Tess said, sounding bored. "They break up every day. And get back together every night. But Johnny's crazy about her, he gets kind of batshit if another dude even looks at her."

"Thanks," Franklin nodded at them all. "I'll keep that in mind."

"Are you going to do it tonight?" Lester asked him.

Franklin shrugged. "I was thinkin' about it."

"Be careful," Lester warned. "Seriously, Franklin. If you hear anything while you're around the auto shop, even a freakin' mouse, get out of there. Don't take any chances."

"For sure, dog."

Tess let him pick the next song while the others started a new round. Franklin chose something at random, and it turned out to be another folsky tune, and he found himself tipping his head back and shutting his eyes, nearly dozing off. He was on the cusp of sleep, teetering on the edge, when the earbud was suddenly yanked from his ear and Tess's hand clapped down onto his shoulder, startling him back to reality.

"Newbie," she whispered, the feel of her warm breath against his ear making him sit up straighter. "Visitor."

Franklin looked around, a little disoriented, and realized Michael was standing awkwardly by the steps. He'd just come from practice, and stood with sweaty hair and grass-stained clothes, still somewhat out of breath as he met Franklin's eyes and nodded. He was sort of tense, and it was clear he was way out of his comfort zone here.

"Hey dog," Franklin said.

Michael nodded at him again. "Sorry to uh... I know you're all hangin' out or whatever, I can come back--"

"No, man, it's fine. What's up?"

Rickie and Jay were gawking at Michael, and it occured to Franklin that this must be like seeing your favourite celebrity at a restaurant or something.  Michael gave them an uncomfortable-looking smile. "Uh, could I maybe talk to you alone?"

"Sure, dog." Franklin heaved himself off the couch and followed Michael down the steps to the lower level, which was bathed in soft light. Michael couldn't keep his eyes steady; he seemed enamoured, looking around at everything and anything. Franklin wondered if he'd even been inside the observatory before. "So what’s up?” he asked.

Michael slid his hands into his pockets and lifted one shoulder. “I guess I just wanted to drop by and say that I’m not, you know, _mad_ at you or anything.”

“Thanks, dog. I appreciate that. I was kind of worried.”

“Don’t be,” said Michael. “It’s Steve that I want to kill, not you. Speaking of, when do you think you’re gonna make a move?”

Franklin smiled. “It’s in motion, homie. I’m gonna get Dom Beasley to help us. It’ll fall through, I know it will.” He hesitated for a moment, unsure of himself. “But uh, Steve’s got me on something else right now.”

Something passed over Michael’s face. “I thought you said you were done?”

“I am, but I gotta do this, otherwise he’ll start to get suspicious,” Franklin explained. He didn’t want Michael to think of him as some slimy accomplice; in fact, that was the last thing he wanted. Franklin liked Michael. He looked at the older boy and couldn’t help but feel like there was some potential there. Potential to be friends, to change how the school operated. Michael seemed like the kind of guy who could teach him a few things, and Franklin was willing to listen.

Michael tilted his head. “What does he want you to do this time?”

Franklin told him about the bikes, about the Greasers, about sneaking into the auto shop after curfew. While he said the words, he observed Michael’s eyes growing wider and wider each time. By the time he was finished, Michael was swallowing hard, looking around them with darting eyes as if Johnny Klebitz was lurking in a shadowy corner, ready to pounce.

“Anyway,” Franklin said, “If it’s somethin’ you’d be into, homie, we’d need all the help we can get.”

“I don’t have any beef with the Greasers,” Michael said automatically. Then a pause. “Well, no, that ain’t true. They’re all morons, and sure, I’d love to knock Johnny Klebitz on his junkie ass but… I don’t know, kid. It seems really dangerous.”

“If we do this, I can get closer to Steve,” Franklin replied, doing his best to not sound desperate. “If we do this, we win over the Preppies, we get their respect. We need that respect to figure out how to get back at ‘em. You feel me?”

“Yeah, but…”

“Trevor’s gonna be there,” Franklin blurted, and watched as Michael’s eyes rounded in surprise. “It’ll be him, me and Lamar. But we could really use you, dog. Think about how you felt after Haines made you throw the Hawks game. How pissed off you were, how you’d give anythin’ to fuck that guy up to next week.”

Michael’s mouth twisted, and Franklin could almost see the memory of the game replaying in his mind’s eye. It took a few moments, and they seemed to drip by like years, but finally, Michael released a breath that he seemed to have been holding, and met Franklin’s stare head on.

“Alright,” he said. “I’m in. I’ll be there.”

“You won’t regret it,” Franklin replied, and he meant it, with every cell in his being. With Michael on board, he finally felt that the list of people he could trust here at this school was growing, and not shrinking. “Can you meet us at the auto shop, around 10 o’clock?”

Michael nodded. He looked really anxious, but at least he didn’t furiously backpeddle and change his mind. The Jock stood with his eyes fixed on the floor for several seconds, his hands limp at his sides. “Franklin,” he said, “If something goes wrong… well, I got your back.”

“Same here, homie.”

“Are you sure bringing Trevor was a good idea?”

Franklin chuckled. “He hasn’t let me down yet, dog.”

When Michael smiled, it was soft. Soft like he understood, like he knew that loyalty first-hand. And of course he did. “You’re right,” he said, still smiling. “Damn it, how is a kid like you shaking things up in this place?”

“I ask myself that question every fuckin’ day.”

 

* * *

 

 

Franklin sat on his bed with his phone in his hand, frowning at the screen and waiting for something to happen. He couldn't seem to move his fingers, because he really didn't want to do this, but at the same time, knew that he had to. He had to at least  _try_. Talking to his aunt was right at the top on his list of things he found intolerable. She might not even be home, really. Franklin wasn't sure if he would be feel relieved, if she didn't pick up the phone. 

He sighed and found her number. He lifted the phone to his ear and scrubbed a hand over his face as he listened to the irritating dial tone ring out. To his surprise, and also disappointment, Denise answered after the third ring. 

"It's Franklin," he said. 

"What? Shouldn't you be in class right now?"

"It's five o'clock on a Friday, so no." He couldn't keep the bite out of his tone.

"Don't give me backtalk, boy. I thought that school would have knocked some manners into by now, I guess I was wrong." Franklin had wondered if hearing her voice would give him the tiniest shred of comfort, or maybe even awaken some buried nugget of homesickness, but Denise's voice made him feel nothing but annoyance. 

"I just called to check in."

"To what, say that they haven't kicked you out yet?" Denise quipped. "What you want, boy, a medal?"

Franklin scowled. "No," he said. 

"Well, after tomorrow you can't call here anymore."

"Oh really? Why not?"

"Enrique and I are going to Europe for a few months, we're taking a spirit trip to cleanse our inner vessels," she answered, her voice refrigerated. "Just in case you thought you'd be comin' back here for Christmas."

Franklin's heart sank, but more out of anger than sadness. Christmas had never the highlight of his calendar, but still, a part of him would have liked to spend it in a house, with at least one relative, no matter how pathetic that relative was or how much he hated them. "Fine," he snapped. "I probably would have wanted to stay here, anyway."

He went to hang up, because why the hell had he even bothered to call in the first place, and who the fuck was Enrique? But then Denise spoke up. "What's it like?" She asked him. 

"What?"

"The  _school_ , boy! Do you need your ears cleaned?"

"It's..." He could lie. He could lie right out of his ass, make her furious, tell her that this place was a dream come true and  that he had too many friends to count, that he was a genius in all his classes, that his weekends were packed with a constant stream of party invitations and movie visits and that he was, in absolutely no way, hanging out with psychotic Townies. But even if he put on his best act and said all of those things, he knew deep down that Denise would never believe him. So he told the truth. "It's a dump," he said. "It's a steamin' fuckin' pile of garbage, full of idiots and maniacs all with the sole purpose of trying to kill each other. The principal is an arrogant dick and the town is trash. I'm counting the days until summer vacation." He sighed heavily.

"Are you applyin' yourself? That was always your problem, you know, no ambition, no drive--" He let her ramble on, tuning her out as he sat there. Franklin knew from personal experience that the conversations that made him angriest were the ones that began with, 'That was always your problem'. And he didn't feel like fighting with her. He didn't have the energy.

When the line went quiet and she'd finally finished, Franklin said, "The kids here don't exactly have much ambition, either."

"Sounds like you'll fit in just fine, then," said Denise, and then she hung up. 

Franklin's face snapped into an angry scowl and he threw his phone backwards onto his pillow. What was the point? He'd tried, and that was really all he could do. She could fuck off to Europe and cleanse whatever body part she wanted to, but Franklin knew she'd never be the kindly aunt he had hoped for as a kid. Besides, he didn't really care anymore. It was still far off, but he'd have his own fun at Christmas. The campus would be quiet; he'd have the dorm's TV room to himself, extra portions in the cafeteria. He could spend whole days in Bullworth town. It wouldn't be so bad, he hoped.

When the knock came at the window, Franklin wasn't even surprised this time. He just felt weirdly impressed that they had actually knocked. 

"Franklin." Steve pushed the window up and slid inside. Dom followed, though he did so clumsily, struggling with a pair of crutches and a right leg that was in a heavy, cream-colored cast. Steve's grin was pleasant. "How are you today, buddy?"

"Like you care."

"You're right, I don't." He folded his arms and snorted. "I haven't heard a word out of you since the game, even though I asked you to do something  _very_ important. So, I have to drag myself and my hop-a-long friend here all the way across campus to see you."

Franklin wasn't in the mood. He narrowed his eyes at the older boy. "What do you want from me?"

"What I  _want_ is for you to ruin those bikes," Steve's eyes flashed. "What's the hold up, pal?" 

"Look, I'm doing it tonight, man."

"You are?" Something in Steve's shoulders relaxed. "Good. I was starting to wonder if you'd pussied out again." He looked over at Dom and frowned. Dom had sat down at the foot of Lamar's bed, his right leg slightly elevated on a pile of Lamar's clothes. Steve's nose wrinkled. "Dom, get your ass up. You'll catch something."

"It's uncomfortable to stand with a broken leg, bro," Dom seemed annoyed, but when he glanced over at Franklin, the smile he gave him was nothing but cheerful. "Franklin," he said, "Thanks again for helping me the other day."

"Hey, no problem, dog."

"Sign my cast, bro!" 

Franklin chuckled, grabbed a pen from the desk and wandered over to Dom. He signed his name amongst the blizzard of other signatures. His scribble stood out amongst the creepily neat and elegant Preppie handwriting. 

"Hurts like a bitch,  _and_ itches like hell," Dom told him, when Franklin had returned to his own bed. "But whatever, it's not the first bone I've broken and it  _definitely_ won't be the last."

Steve scoffed. "You're a moron."

Dom fell quiet. Franklin felt indignant on Dom's behalf. "Leave him alone, dog."

Steve ignored him. "So, what's going down tonight?"

"What you want. Me and--" he stopped himself, just in time. "Me and Lamar," he corrected. "After curfew, we're gonna go down to the auto shop and fuck up those bikes. How much do I get for this, by the way?"

"Slow down, amigo. You do it first, then we'll talk cash."

"Of fuckin' course." Franklin rolled his eyes. "So after I do this, I get paid and then you leave me the hell alone."

"Did you not hear me, kid?" Steve took a menacing step forward. "I told you that we're done when I  _say_ we're done. When I get bored of you, then maybe I'll let you go, but right now you do what I say."

Franklin gets to his feet, aggravated. "Really, dog? If you want to do this, I'm down for right now."

"Are you always this unreasonable?" Steve growled. "Don't think I won't pound you into the ground, pal."

"You could try. Of course, once everybody outside this room hears you, they won't hesitate to run in here and tell a Preppie where to go."

"Are you threatening me?"

"I'm telling you how it is," Franklin said flatly. "I'm sick of your ass pushing me around. After tonight, it's over. You'll leave me the fuck alone and you'll give me what you owe me."

Steve's face was just inches away, and Franklin could hear his teeth grinding with fury. "And if I don't?"

"Then you'll have a very big problem."

"Whoa, easy guys," Dom said loudly, grabbing his crutches and hobbling awkwardly to his feet. "We don't want to cause a scene or anything, get the whole dorm on us."

Steve tore his eyes from Franklin and moved them to Dom. "Don't be a pussy, Beasley." And then, quieter, but still audible, "Freakin' idiot."

Dom jerked back a little, and the hurt was visible in his eyes if you knew to look for it. Franklin raised himself up to his full height, even if that wasn't much of anything, and met Steve's eyes head on. "Get out of my room," he said. 

Steve gave him a poisonous glare, but he did leave. He went to the window and shoved it open so roughly that the glass seemed to shake in the frame. Dom nodded at Franklin.

"I'll see you around, I guess."

"For sure, dog. Take care of yourself."

Dom smiled, but it quickly vanished when Steve's voice burst like a bullet from the other side of the window. "Hurry _up_ , Dom, or I'll break your other leg."

Franklin shut the window after them and pulled the curtains. He went and lay down on his bed in the darkened room, and listened to the now-normal bangs and shouts coming from the hallway outside, wondering if he'd even make it to Christmas. He couldn't help but feel he had just stirred up something dangerous; that if Steve was a grenade, Franklin had just yanked the pin out. 

 

* * *

 

"Man, where  _is_ this fool?" Lamar bounced impatiently on the balls of his feet, his eyes darting left and right in nervous agitation. "I thought you told him ten, Frank."

"I did," Franklin replied, and lifted his phone to check the screen. It was nearly ten thirty. 

"He'll be here," Trevor said, in a voice that convinced neither of them to argue. "He said he'd come, so he'll be here."

The sky was pitch black and devoid of any star or trickle of moonlight, and the auto shop area wasn't exactly plentiful in street lights. Franklin had made his way here, behind the wall of the auto shop, dependant on the light of his phone. The air was freezing cold and sharp to the lungs, and there was also something weird in it, something that made Franklin feel nervous. The campus was perfectly quiet, but almost too quiet. 

"I don't hear anything," Lamar said, as if he'd read his mind. "The Greasers must be gone."

"Doesn't matter if they're not," Trevor mused, more to himself than to them. "I got no problem knocking a few greasemonkey heads together."

"Then you'll be on your own," Franklin told him sternly. "I'm serious, dog, we gotta be quiet."

"Well, I'm good at that," Trevor said. "Almost a year of sneaking around with Michael, you learn how to be discreet."

"Heads up," Lamar said, getting their attention. "QB at six o'clock."

Franklin turned. He heard the scratch of gravel under shoes before he saw Michael. He seemed to materialize out of the shadows, the darkness spitting him out. He sported a pair of smart jeans and a button-up, and looked a little cold. 

"Sorry," he said.

"What kept ya, cupcake?" Trevor asked.

Despite the fact Franklin had told him Trevor was going to be here, Michael still seemed surprised to see him. "I was at the movies with Amanda," he explained. "I had to walk her back to the girls dorm."

Trevor seemed to stiffen. "Oh, the girlfriend, right. How  _is_ Amanda?"

"She's fine, T." Franklin detected a note of affection. "Thanks for asking."

There was an awkward silence as no one seemed quite sure what to do. Franklin felt some responsibility to break the quiet, seeing as he was the reason they were all gathered here, standing in the shadows freezing their asses off. He cleared his throat. "So, it's gonna be like this," he began. "We sneak into the parking lot behind the shop, to where the Greasers keep their bikes. We're gonna pop the wheels first, and  _then_ bleed the engines, but only if it's quiet." He gestured from Lamar to Michael. "Do you guys know each other?"

"Lamar Davis," Michael half-smiled. "I used to cheat off you in French." 

Trevor raised a hand. "Question."

Franklin rolled his eyes. "What, T?"

"Can we take a shit in their exhaust pipes?" 

"No, T."

"Was worth a try."

Franklin rubbed his hands together to warm them up. "Well, fuck, alright then," he said. "Let's do this."

He led the way, Lamar just behind, Michael and Trevor close together. Franklin could hear them murmuring to each other, a low rumble. He shushed them and bent low, creeping alongside the wall with his hands stretched out in front of him, groping the dark and feeling his way. It got brighter close to the Shop building itself, thankfully, a single street light providing most of the soft hue. Franklin squinted through the dim light and saw the gap in the wall that led into the parking lot.

"Come on," he whispered, "it's through here."

Trevor whistled from the back of the line. "Can you stay crouched in front of me like that, Mikey? I'm enjoying the view."

"Shut up, T, somebody will hear us," Michael hissed.

"There's nobody here except us and the homies up there."

"Just shut up for a second!"

There were a dozen bikes or so. Franklin glimpsed them, big and bulky in the shadows. He slid a hand into his pocket and pulled out a few of the screwdrivers he had 'borrowed' yesterday from Shop class, and passed three back down the line. "Let's go, homies," he whispered. "Quick as you can."

The next few minutes were filled with nothing but the sounds of the low hiss of air being punched from the motorcycle tires. Franklin made sure they all spread out, getting as many bikes as they could. His heart was pounding, his fingers ice-cold around the base of the screwdriver. He crouched by his third bike and drove the screwdriver hard into the wheel, somewhat enjoying the puff of air that blew out at the impact. A few feet away, Michael was doing the same to a back wheel of a bike, Trevor at the front. 

"Stop it!" Franklin heard Michael hiss, and there was a sound of scuffling. "T, knock it off!"

"I'm just lonely," Trevor teased, and it was clear he was getting handsy. "And I've heard that football players can do it for two hours in eleven different positions."

"Trevor, I swear to--"

"Hey!" Franklin growled, "we're almost done here. Hurry up!"

Trevor grumbled a curse word but crept away from Michael to stab at another bike with tassles draped across the seat. Trevor tore them off, cackling gleefully to himself. Maybe he had been the right person to bring. 

Within minutes, they had soon stabbed the tires of every single bike in the lot between them. Franklin looked around, and upon seeing and hearing nothing but the cold, dead air and darkness, gathered them all together and told them, "We'll try and bleed some out. Not all, just some. Let's go."

Lamar picked a bike near to Franklin and got to work. "You one crazy motherfucker, Frank."

"Maybe. Hey, thanks for doing this, man." 

"Ain't nothin'. Might even be good for me. Klebitz pissed on my shoes in freshman year."

"What the fuck's his problem?"

"Just a lot of crank. So much crank. And like, he also psychotic over that Ashley chick, which is a bad mix, dog." 

The stench of gasoline was overwhelming after a few seconds. Franklin moved between a few bikes, trying to see how far Michael and Trevor had gotten. He found them kneeling by a bled-out bike, still bickering. 

"What movie did you see?" Trevor asked casually.

"Uh, it was that new comedy. You know, the one with the guy and his boss," Michael mumbled. "Why do you care?"

"I'm just curious. Was it good?"

Michael rubbed the back of his neck and sniffed. "I, uh, I don't know. We didn't really... watch it."

Trevor growled in response. "You're pathetic."

"M'sorry."

"No, you're _not._ " He snorted. "The cheerleader and the quarter back, how fucking nauseating."

Michael looked away. "What am I supposed to do? Say, 'sorry, Amanda, but I'm kind of doing that psycho from Junior year?'. Is that what you want, T?"

"You're  _afraid_ ," Trevor wasn't whispering anymore. "You're weak and you're afraid."

"Whatever, T."

"Don't  _whatever_ me, you fat turd!" Trevor put his hand on his chest and stared at Michael hard. "I  _love_ you--"

"Yo, guys!" Franklin scrambled towards them. "Keep it down, you're going to--" And then he heard it, distant, but still incredibly loud in the quiet of the night. 

"And then I said to him,  _fuck you_ , I'm taking your dope, and I'm taking your car, and ain't shit you can do about it!" A voice Franklin didn't recognize, but knew he should be afraid of. A door at the back of the Shop was opening, and in the faint light Franklin could see the slow, lazy rise of cigarette smoke. Two guys were laughing, he could see their outlines. 

Michael jerked to life and motioned wildly for them to move. They fell back into single line, hearts pounding, but every scratch and crunch of ground under their feet seemed amplified. Franklin winced as his shoe slid over a slippery part of asphalt, and his hand closed around a puddle of oil. Lamar poked him in the back, pushing him forward. 

The same unrecognizable voice, a male's, went on from near them. "Anyway, whatever, it was a fun night. Right now though, I feel like a ride. Rocco?"

"Sure, Johnny," another voice, this one faster. "Might even race, if you're up to it."

"Always am."

Franklin led the others back through the gap in the wall, and they were a few metres away before they heard it. A shout, laced with rage and horror. "What the  _fuck_?  _My bike_!"

" _Your_ bike? Look at mine!"

Michael jumped to his feet, and suddenly he was running. "Come on, stay in the dark!"

Franklin felt like he had done on the night he photographed Trevor and Michael: cold, out of breath, and filled with adrenalin. His legs couldn't carry him fast enough as he raced back, flying past the school building and rounding the corner to the boys dormitory. He doubled over and tried to catch his breath when Michael came to a skidding halt by the steps. The four of them gasped for air, holding their chests. And it was Michael who laughed first. 

"Holy shit!" A wide grin lit his face, the laugh punching itself from his lungs. "Holy - oh fuck, did you hear them? ' _My bike!' 'My bike!_ '"

And they all burst out laughing, Franklin included. "Jesus, man," he said between chuckles, "That was too fuckin' close."

"Fuckin' A! Oh man, what a rush!" Michael's face was bright and lively; full of color. He looked like a totally different person. The usual tension had disappeared from his eyes and he was smiling like he'd never be able to stop. "I can't believe - fuck, they nearly caught us."

"Let 'em catch us now," Lamar laughed, "Them bikes are all out of juice!" 

They stood there by the steps for what seemed like hours, laughing like little kids and recalling how Johnny had yelled, how fast they had ran, how tomorrow was going to be interesting. Franklin couldn't peel the smile off his face. This was probably what being sixteen was supposed to be feel like. Cheating curfew and laughing until your stomach hurt with your friends, doing stupid shit and feeling your heart slam hard and rough against your ribcage. He was actually disappointed when Lamar lifted a hand in farewell, and moved towards the dorm's front doors. 

"It's been an experience," he said, still chortling. "But I'm tired as shit. See you around."

"Yeah, I better be going myself," Trevor said once Lamar had gone inside. "It's a long walk back to the cemetery."

He looked at Michael for a moment, a strange tense impasse, and Franklin suddenly felt like he should head inside himself. But before he could, Trevor leaned forward and kissed Michael's lips. It was brief, maybe a bit breathy, but it didn't stop Michael's hands from curling around Trevor's hips and digging in. Trevor made a soft sound and pulled away. For the first time since Franklin had known him, he looked truly happy. 

"Bye kid," he said to Franklin, but didn't tear his eyes from Michael. 

"See you around, dog." 

Michael smiled at him, and kept smiling until Trevor had dissolved into the darkness and the sound of his footsteps had faded away. Franklin took a step toward him and put his hands in his pockets, cracking a smile at the red flush on Michael's cheeks. 

"What... what exactly is the deal between you two, dog? A minute ago you was fightin', and now you making me feel like I walked in on my parents."

Michael laughed softly. "It's... complicated."

"Yeah, no shit."

"You know, he came to my place last summer."

Franklin quirked an eyebrow. "He what?"

"Crazy bastard. I live three states over, but in the middle of July, he took a train and like, five buses, and then walked the rest of the way to my place. It was close to two o'clock in the morning when he got there, tapped on the window like some kind of bad movie. It's a trailer, too, so he risked waking my parents up." Michael tilted his head back and stared at the sky. "It was a night like this, maybe a little warmer. I was in my damn boxer shorts. But he came all that way to see me."

"You seem to be the real deal," Franklin mused. "I mean, Trevor told me about what's gonna happen when you graduate."

Michael looked at him. "What?"

"He said you'd made plans or something."

Michael smiled. "Oh, right. 'Course." There was something slightly off, but Franklin knew this was neither the time nor the place to ask him to elaborate. So instead, he elbowed him in the ribs and moved toward the first step. "Come on, dog, before we freeze our balls off."

Michael caught his arm. "Frank, hold on."

"Yeah?"

"You know what's gonna happen next, right?"

Franklin stared. "What?"

"War. Of the Greaser-Preppie kind, and Steve is gonna be on your ass big time." 

Franklin nodded. He exhaled. "I'm ready for 'em." 

Michael smiled, let his arm go, and the two of them climbed the steps and slipped into the warmth of the dorm. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I reignited my Trikey feels. Send help. 
> 
> This one was fun to write, and I hope you all enjoyed. Thank you for reading, it really means the world to me. If you'd like to be the 69th comment, and thus make Rockstar proud, please feel free to let me know what you think. :)


	13. Friends & Enemies

Franklin was used to waking up with his head shoved underneath the pillow, his body twisted in the sheets, usually one leg sticking out into the cool morning air. He'd be woken naturally, or sometimes by a bang or bump outside in the hallway as the dorm and its crazed occupants greeted the morning sun with their usual anarchy. Lamar would stir, birds would maybe chirp, and minutes later Franklin would drag himself from bed and pad across the hall to the bathroom. It was practically a routine by now.

Except, when Franklin woke up the morning after the bike dismantling, he didn't wake up the usual way. In fact, he was awoken by two rough, strong hands grabbing him by the scruff of the neck and pulling him out of bed. Franklin's body hit the floor with a bang and he cursed, pain tweaking up the side of his leg at the impact. His eyes struggled to adjust to the hazy light and the fact he'd been in a deep sleep not two seconds ago. Suddenly, those same hands had him by the arms, the nails digging in so hard it felt like they were tearing skin. Franklin was thrown back against the wall, banging his head. He forced his eyes to open and saw, through the spots, three very angry boys standing in his room.

" _You_ ," snarled the guy in the middle. He was twice as tall as Franklin and twice as brawny with a face full of scars. Franklin felt his stomach turn over. The guy looked way older than any Senior he'd ever seen - a buzz cut, thick angry eyebrows and a handlebar moustache that was practically trembling with rage. Over a dark button-up he sported a slick black leather jacket, his pants tattered and dusted with mud. "Get the _fuck_ up," he yelled, his voice almost as rough as his hands. "On your feet, now!"

Franklin held his pounding head and slid off the bed. "Who the fuck are you?"

"Who the fuck am I? I'm the guy who's _bike you thrashed_ , you tiny fuckin' moron! Look at me!" His hand shot out and grabbed Franklin by the chin, forcing him to look up into his enraged face. "Thought you'd get away with it, did you? Little punk asshole! You're going to _die!_ "

"Kick his ass, Johnny!" One of the other guys demanded, looking excited.

Franklin's heart plummeted inside his chest, like someone had taken a knife to the heartstrings and snapped them clean. He felt beads of perspiration breaking out on his forehead. "What?"

"Are you deaf, asshole? I know who you are, _Franklin Clinton_. I know that you snuck into our yard last night and destroyed our bikes! You're a fucking psycho! You're also a fucking idiot. I'm going to kill you!"

"Frank!" Lamar had too been awoken by all the chaos. Franklin looked over at his roommate's bed and saw Lamar scrambling out of his own bedsheets. He shrank back in fear of the group, edging toward the door with wild-eyes fixed on Franklin. "I'll go get help, Frank, stay put!"

Like he had a choice. Franklin swallowed hard and raised his eyes reluctantly to the rabid Rottweiler that was Johnny Klebitz. Johnny gave Franklin's chest a savage shove that sent him flying backwards onto the bed. Johnny growled. "You've pissed off the wrong people, you fucking dick. Did you think I wouldn't find out? Did you think you'd get away with it?"

"Man I..." Franklin's heart was pounding a mile a minute. "I don't know what you're talkin' about, dog."

" _Now_ I'm fucking angry," Johnny snapped. Franklin wondered what he was before, and gulped. Johnny shoved him again, a push that had him bouncing off the bedsprings. "You're going to lie now? I got you cornered, asshole! I _know_ that it was you."

"L-look, man, relax--"

" _Relax?_ " Johnny burst out laughing, a hysterical sort of laugh that made an ice-cold fear prickle up Franklin's spine. "Listen to this pipsqueak! Relax! How can I relax when you destroyed our bikes, you little prick!" He clenched his fists and Franklin tensed.

"Where's your proof?" Franklin shouted, suddenly pissed more than afraid. He did damage those bikes, but at the same time, sincerely doubted Johnny Klebitz could produce even a shred of evidence that pointed to him as the culprit. It had been dark after all, and they'd got out clean, they hadn't even been sighted.

"I got proof," Johnny retorted, furious. "You're busted, dipshit. BUSTED."

Before Franklin saw it coming, Johnny had shoved him again, only this one was harder, and his head bounced off the wall a second time. The pain was white heat. Franklin groaned, stars swirling in front of his eyes, and he wondered if hitting Johnny back would break his hand.

Before he could even try, though, Lamar had ran back into the room with a half-dressed, groggy Michael.

The Jock looked around, disoriented and confused, wearing just his boxer shorts and a white vest. When he saw Johnny standing over Franklin, something inside him seemed to snap, and in the blink of an eye he had rushed forward, grabbed Johnny by the shoulders of his jacket and pushed him to the other side of the room. The other two Greasers went to lash out, but Johnny raised a hand and they fell back in line, like obedient soldiers.

Johnny was panting. "Stay out of this, Townley. I don't got any beef with the Jocks."

Michael's eyes flashed. "Yeah? You _will_ have if you touch that kid one more time." He glanced back at Franklin, to see if he was alright. "What are you doing, Klebitz? It's eight o'clock in the morning, you've smashed up the room!"

"Go back to your room, tough guy," said one of the Greasers, an Italian-American boy with mean eyes. "Or else that pretty face of yours ain't gonna be so pretty."

"Go fuck yourself, Pelosi," Michael spat, turning back to Johnny. "We all gotta live in this dump together, and nobody wants trouble. So tell me, what the fuck are you doing coming in here like a bull in a fuckin' china shop?"

"Him!" Johnny pointed a finger at Franklin accusingly. "That short motherfucker right there! He thrashed my bike! Our bikes! Popped the tires and bled out our engines! This bottom-feeding fuck is going to die!"

Franklin saw the panic in Michael's eyes. Michael seemed to be struggling to compose himself. "...Oh, really? Well, why do you think he did that? Got any proof?"

"I have an _eye witness_ , says this kid snuck right into our lot last night."

Franklin snorted. "You're crazy. I didn't do anything like that, dog. Who the hell is this eye witness?"

 "Steve Haines," said Johnny. "He told me. He  _swore_ , actually. Said you were going to work on our bikes last night, and now, I'm gonna break your legs." 

Franklin felt the angry, red-hot surge of anger flooding his entire body in seconds.  _Steve_. That backstabbing piece of shit! Franklin looked at Michael and saw the Jock's face had gone ashen. Michael hooked Johnny's gaze and there was a desperation to his voice when he asked, "Did Haines... tell you anything else?"

"No," Johnny frowned at him. "Just that this pipsqueak was the one who fucked up our bikes." He turned back to Franklin with a snarl. "He also said you've been goin' around talking out your ass about how you're gonna take over this school, beat me up and all my guys.  _And_ Steve told me you said some pretty fucked up things about my mom."

"Your mom? I don't even know your mom, dog!" Franklin clenched his fists tight, his whole body hot with rage. He was going to kill Steve. He was going to personally take the Preppie and kick his ass from here to next week. But right now he had a much bigger problem to tend to - Johnny Klebitz and his gang of future criminals wanted blood, and they were more likely to believe what Steve had told them than anything Franklin would try to say. Who knows what else that slimy fuck that told the, what other lies he'd spouted. 

"You seem angry, kid," Johnny taunted, "Pissed that reality finally caught up with you? Did you think you were some kind of genius?  _Nobody_ crosses me and gets away with it." He grabbed Franklin's collar and threw him across the room. As Franklin panted on the ground, Johnny stood over him menacingly. "Come on then, hardcore! Let's do this! Fight me, motherfucker, punch me--"

" _Klebitz!_ "

They all jumped at the deafening shout that burst through the room like a bullet. Principal Weston stormed into the room with Chef in tow. At the door, a crowd had begun to gather. Wide eyes looked on as Weston grabbed Johnny's arm and forced him back, and then as he bent down to take Franklin's elbow and drag him roughly back to his feet. 

A flash nearly blinded them all. At the door, Beverly was holding his camera at eye-level looking excited. "This week's front page!" he hissed. "Johnny Klebitz smashes up boys dorm in drug-fuelled rampage!"

Weston growled. "Mr. Felton, if you don't want your camera to be thrown over the wall of the school, I suggest you go back to your room. All of you! Come _on_ , this isn't a show people. Haven't you got breakfast to go eat?" 

There was a rush of muttered groans and sighs as the boys filed out of the doorway, and then the sounds of shutting doors as they all returned to their rooms. The silence that hung in the air after they had gone made Franklin nauseous. Johnny was breathing heavily, and the glare he was giving Weston made it very clear that he'd have no problem going through the principal to get to Franklin. Behind him, Lamar and Michael were speechless. 

"What," Weston finally said, "in  _God's name_ is going on here?"

"Our bikes," Johnny barked. "Clinton made scrap metal of them last night!"

Weston narrowed his eyes. "Is that true, Franklin?"

"No, it's not. Well, fuck, it  _is_ , but I can explain. It actually wasn't--"

At the confession, Johnny let loose a furious sound and went to grab Franklin by the throat. Chef had to restrain him. Weston had gone red in the face. "That's  _enough_ , Klebitz! One more wrong move and I'll have the cops on you." Weston scowled at Johnny's friends. "Pelosi, Guzman, get back to your rooms." He seemed to notice Michael for the first time, and Franklin felt a flutter of panic as Weston's eyebrows raised to his hairline. "Townley?" he asked, surprised.

Michael gulped. "I'll, uh, go." He nodded at Franklin as he passed, in a way that seemed to say, ' _Please don't fuck this up.'_

"Davis?" 

"This is my room. Uh, sir."

"Then go and sit your ass down in the living room. This problem is between Klebitz and Clinton only."

Lamar left reluctantly, and shut the door after him. In the sudden silence, Franklin could almost hear his heart pounding. Johnny was looking at him like he was a cockroach he couldn't  _wait_ to crush underneath his boot. 

"Boys," Weston said, "both of you are coming to my office.  _Now_."

 

* * *

 

 

Franklin wanted to argue that being forced to sit next to Johnny Klebitz outside the principal's office would almost certaintly guarantee his brutal and immediate death, but Principal Weston didn't appear to be in the mood for either of them. When they arrived at his office, he sat them both down on the couch in the front office, Molly stationed at her desk to keep an eye on them, and then he went into his own office and shut the door. Johnny's scarred hands were clenched into fists on his knees, his knuckles ivory-white. Franklin sat, tense and panicked, almost too afraid to breathe. The gap between him and Johnny wasn't big enough.

Classes would be starting soon. A few minutes ago, Franklin had heard large groups of students filing into the cafeteria for breakfast, and his stomach had growled in protest. His seat would be empty and, undoubtedly, word had already spread about Johnny Klebitz's rampage in his room this morning. He knew that Michael was probably sweating downstairs right now, yanking at his collar and trying to pretend everything was alright. He felt like an asshole for including Michael in all of this, but then, Michael had volunteered. Things were just a mess, and Franklin was having a hard time foreseeing how they would get back to normal. 

After a few minutes of suffering the unbearable tick-tock of the clock on the wall, Franklin couldn't take it anymore. He dropped his voice to a whisper and leaned over. "Hey."

Johnny's whole body tightened, like he was restraining himself. 

"I did fuck up your bikes, dog, but there's something you gotta understand. It was  _Steve_ , man, he's--"

"One more word out of you and I'll snap your neck," Johnny snarled, with such venom that Franklin recoiled. "I heard there was a new kid makin' moves around here. Maybe I should have expected this."

"Look, dog--"

"What did I say?" Johnny snapped. "I know your type, motherfucker! Over-confident little shits who think the world owes them something. Fuck you. I hope Weston tosses you out. And when he does, I'll be waiting at the gates to pummel your ass into the ground." When he met Franklin's eyes, they were pulsing with rage. "After this, kid, you'll wish you were dead. You've fucked over the wrong guy."

Franklin moved back miserably to his original spot and put his head in his hands. So much for walking away. 

The door of Weston's office opened, and the principal's office rang out. "Klebitz, you're up. Ass in here,  _now_."

It was a relief when Johnny disappeared into the office, but Franklin still felt like shit. He leaned back into the couch and felt the back of his head. It was still throbbing from when his skull had collided with the damn wall. He sighed and dropped his head into his hands, rubbed his groggy eyes and wondered when this was all going to end. He heard the office door open a few minutes later, but didn't react, surprised Johnny had already finished spouting his piece. But the voice he heard at his ear wasn't Johnny. 

"What's up, homie? How's this for giving you what I owe you?"

Frankin jerked and looked up. Steve was grinning down at him, eyes glittering like he'd just won the fucking lottery. Franklin's lip curled back. "You  _motherfucker_! You sold me out!" _  
_

"Don't act so surprised, amigo," said Steve. "What did you think was going to happen?"

"Man, I didn't think you'd do somethin' like this."

"See, that's the problem with you, Franklin.  _I'm_ smarter than you." Steve's grin was manic. "Did you really think you could threaten me and get away with it, you little shit? You're small fry, buddy, and I don't waste my time with small fry. So, I decided to get rid of you."

"Man, we ain't done," Franklin growled, "you're gonna regret this."

"I told you that that we'd be done when I said we were," Steve answered cooly. "And now? We're done, kid. And so are you." He chuckled. "Klebitz and his gang of snorters have got it out for you now, which means you have... oh, about a week left alive? If Weston doesn't kick you out, that is. It's been fun, Franklin."

"You piece of shit," Franklin snapped. "I'm not scared of you." 

Steve bent down to him, like he was talking to a child, his smile calm and easy. "You should be," he said, and sauntered out of the office. 

Franklin's nails bit into the fabric of the couch as he sat there, fuming, battling the urge to sprint after Steve and knock his head against the wall. He had no idea how he would bring the Preppie down, but he knew that it was time to try. He'd have to get help, and they would have to wait until Steve got comfortable, but it was going to happen. Franklin was determined now, it burned inside him, blazed like an inferno that could never be put out. It wasn't going to be easy, but Franklin was prepared. 

 

* * *

 

 

" _Why_ did you do that to Johnny's bikes, Clinton?"

"It's a long story, sir."

"Oh really?" Weston scoffed. "Try me."

Franklin shrugged. The office was too warm and it was starting to give him headache. He'd been sitting in here ten minutes now and Weston's patience was starting to wear. Johnny had slammed shoulders with him on his way out and the ache in Franklin's collarbone was threatening to make him pass out. 

He wasn't going to tell Weston the truth, because that meant involving Michael, and it meant involving Lamar. Besides, Franklin could spout all the crap he wanted to about how much of a asshole Steve Haines was, and Weston would never believe him. After all, would you really believe the troublesome, new-kid Sophomore over the mind-boggingly rich and arrogant Senior? Steve's dad probably paid Weston's salary. So instead of telling the truth, Franklin refused to co-operate, deciding early on that whatever punishment Weston wanted to give him was better than putting this shit on his friends. 

"You obviously have behavioural problems, slick," Weston frowned. "If you get your kicks from violating other students property."

"No, sir."

"I don't like Klebitz, he's been here so long he's practically a faculty member, but I believe him. Did he do something to you or something, pal? Why the random attack? What is going on here?"

"Nothing, sir."

Weston went purple. "It doesn't _seem_ like nothing. Because of you, Klebitz went on a rampage around  _my_ campus this morning and took out half the Freshmans because someone had pissed him off that bad. Schools don't have Johnny Klebitz insurance, slick, and frankly, I don't know why I'm not making you pay for the damage you caused."

Franklin moved his gaze to the photographs on the wall and held it there. Weston went on, droning for what seemed like hours. 

"And to involve Steven Haines in all of this? The poor boy was in here earlier, testifying that he saw you last night. Haines is a hard-working and valued member of our school, Clinton, unlike  _you_. Not to mention his father contributes  _generously_ to our funding every year."

"Right."

"I can see that we're getting nowhere. And you're lucky I've decided to not expel you, even though you committed a serious crime, pal. That's right, a  _crime_. But it wouldn't be right to let you off scot-free, now would it? If you had of helped me out here, you might have escaped any punishment." An irritating, self-satisfied little smirk worked its way onto his lips. "Detention for the next _month_ , Clinton, and you can kiss goodbye your Bullworth town privileges for the next two weeks" 

Franklin's heart sank a little, but he said nothing. Just nodded and waited for Weston to dismiss him. When he finally did, Franklin wandered out into the hallway and down the steps, and found that he'd missed his first two classes, and really didn't feel like going to the third. Instead, he went down to the football field and sat in the bleachers. The sky was dark and rumbling with clouds, and in the air Franklin could taste rain, yet he didn't feel like moving. He chased a cloud across the sky and almost didn't hear the footsteps, until they'd come to a stop right next to him.

"Uh, Franklin?"

He turned. "What's up, man?"

"Nothing really, I just..." Dom stood leaning on his crutches. His cast was covered in signatures now, as well as crudely-drawn pictures of penises. "How come you aren't in class?"

"How come _you_ aren't?"

"I had a free period." Dom eased himself down next to Franklin, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. "Look, I actually saw you coming out of Weston's office and... word kinda travels fast around here so--"

"I ain't interested in what Steve wants now."

Dom frowned. "Huh?"

"That's why you're here, dog. Steve probably sent you to try and get me to do somethin' else, to try and make me kiss his ass again."

A crease had appeared between Dom's eyes. "Bro, no. I wanted to talk to you myself. Listen," he nudged him. "I had no fucking idea that Steve was going to do that to you. Seriously, man, like I really didn't see it coming. He was really angry after what you said yesterday, but still..."

"What are you trying to say, homie?"

"Steve's a prick," Dom said sharply. "Like, fuck, a grade-A prick, and you fuckin' opened my eyes to that and now, I want to help you."

Franklin glanced at him. "You want to bring down your boss, huh?"

"He's not my boss anymore. And he's not my friend. He fucking  _deserves_ whatever he has coming to him."

"So what's the move, then?"

"I have... a couple ideas, nothing concrete. But I was thinking about doing something on Halloween, something big."

"What do you got in mind?"

Dom smiled. "Steve's got his own secrets, bro. Lucky for you, he tells me practically all of 'em. And there's one in particular... if we expose it at the dance, then I can fucking guarantee you that he'll know you mean business."

"You bein'  _real_ shady, Dom."

"I know, but it'll be worth it. There's nothing quite like public humiliation to destroy somebody's popularity."

"Jesus, dog, what the fuck is going on in that mind of yours?"

Dom chuckled. "The best part is, if it works, you might get the Greasers on your side."

Franklin snorted. "I doubt it, homie."

"No, bro, I'm serious! You'll see. Just wait for Halloween, dude."

"You don't got to do this, Dom, what if it goes sour? Steve will be on your ass then, too."

"You helped me, dude," Dom answered, gesturing to his leg. "The least I can do is help you."

Franklin smiled. "Thanks, dog. You're okay."

"And you're pretty cool, for a poor person."

"Don't ruin it, homie." 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you SO much for the comments and kudos last chapter, I can't even begin to tell you how much it means to me that people are reading this and enjoying it as much as you are. 
> 
> I'm graduating this Thursday, which is scary, yet weirdly exciting. Then I have a week off before my final exams start... you know, those ones that decide whether or not I'll be able to go to college. WELP. So if there is a delay in chapters, that's the reason, but I'll be writing a little bit every day to try and continue my pace. Good luck to anyone sitting exams, final or otherwise <3 
> 
> The next chapter will be the dance, I think. I hope you enjoyed this one, let me know what you think! :)


	14. Halloween Brawl

Two days before Halloween, Weston held a big assembly in the gym with the rest of the teachers. The students were herded in after breakfast, the air full of that buzzy happiness that comes with missing a class or two. Franklin sat with Lamar and Tess and watched as Principal Weston smoothed down his already immaculate three-piece gray suit, and looked around at them all with clear disdain. How did that guy even become a principal? He found Franklin in the crowd at one point and his brow furrowed noticeably.

When everyone was sitting down, Weston clapped his hands together and yelled out, "All right, all right, settle down now people," and, when the crowd refused to quieten and kept on talking, " _Hey!_ Shut up!"

An immediate hush fell across the gym like a heavy blanket. Weston smiled. "Good morning everyone, and welcome once again to the annual Halloween assembly." He cleared his throat. "For those of you who don't know what this assembly is for, it is quite simply me reminding you all that no _trouble_ is to be caused at Friday's school dance." He gave them all a beady-eyed little stare. "If the _anarchy_ of last year is repeated tomorrow night, then I can assure you I will not be soft with expulsions."

"Yeah, yeah," Lamar muttered. Franklin glanced over at Tess, and saw she had her earbuds in.

"We don't _have_ to have dances, people, remember that," Weston went on. "Tomorrow night's social event is a privilege, not a right." There was a groan amongst the crowd and Weston frowned. "Even though myself and Miss Schultz will be absent from the school tomorrow, you are to behave as if we were still watching your every move. Because I do keep tabs on you, I do. _These_ eyes--" he did a backwards deuce sign towards his eyes, "--are everywhere!"

Franklin arched an eyebrow. As Weston droned on, Franklin couldn't help but notice people across the crowd were turning around in their seats to sneak a look at him. This had been happening since Johnny Klebitz had nearly cracked his skull off the wall in the boys dormitories. While his classmates had murmured and whispered to each other when he was dealing with the Bullies, this time they weren't as subtle. Something about Johnny Klebitz got them all talking, and for the past few weeks Franklin had been on the receiving end of frequent questions such as " _Can I have your room when Johnny kills you?_ " and " _Aren't you worried he's going to sneak into your room and smother you?_ ". He actually preferred the whispering.

Weston was still lecturing. "You are all to behave like genuine, moral human beings this year. Remember what morals are?" He scoffed. "Most of you had them at one point or another." He glanced sideways at Miss Schultz, who stood obediently at his side with a clipboard. When he held out his hand, she couldn't give it to him fast enough. "Now," said Weston, "I will, as always, remind you of the usual rules that apply to celebrating Halloween here at Bullworth Academy."

There were a few groans before he began. "Firstly, any student found adding alcohol or other banned substances to the punch bowl and soft drinks dispensers will be severely punished. Mr. Yetarian had to forfeit his sobriety chip last year because of you demons." Behind Weston, Mr. Yetarian looked awkwardly at the wall as a few people tittered. "Secondly," Weston went on, "Wearing a "nudist costume" is banned, and yes, I am talking to _you_ , Mr. Beasley. Thirdly," he said, "There is to be _no_ fornicating of any kind in either the locker rooms, bathrooms or the _gym_ itself. You will recall Mrs. Madrazo had the unpleasant task of cleaning up the aftermath of a fornication by the buffet table." Everybody sniggered. Weston handed the clipboard back to Miss Schultz and when he turned back to the crowd, his eyes had grown serious. "Finally, there is one last matter to discuss. We've had our problems in the past with the low-life degenerates of Old Bullworth Vale. I will remind you all that there is to be no communication at _all_ between Bullworth students and these reprobates, and if one of them is sighted on campus, you are to tell a faculty member immediately." He sniffed. "Be mindful in particular of the leader of their little gang, a filthy wretch who won't hesitate to mug you, people."

Franklin saw Michael, sitting a few seats ahead of him, tug at his collar.

"That concludes this year's assembly, I won't keep you from your teachers any longer. But, before you go, I would also just like to congratulate all of the wonderful students who have kept out of trouble so far." He smiled. "Yes, I'm incredibly proud of each of the three students who have not yet been issued with a detention this semester." He glanced at his watch. "So, without further ado, get out of here. Enjoy yourselves tomorrow, but not _too_ much. Namaste!"

 

* * *

 

 Franklin didn't have to go to Detention that afternoon - a crowded classroom full of angry-looking kids who spent more time fighting each other than actually doing anything else. Instead, Principal Weston pulled him aside after the assembly and gave him a smug-looking smile. "Congratulations, slick," he'd said, "as part of your punishment work, you can do some community service. Report back here at four o'clock to help decorate the gym with the Dance Committee."

It was awful and really fucking boring, but Franklin preferred it over Detention. He spent a good chunk of the afternoon hanging orange-and-black balloons across the gym, sticking up cut-outs of bats, spiders and skeletons, and helping to assemble the buffet table. The Dance Committee consisted mainly of cheerleaders, including Amanda, who spent the whole time painting her nails on the bleachers and not actually helping. By the time they were almost finished, the place actually looked decent.

When the gym doors opened, Franklin was blowing up more balloons. It was Michael, dressed for going out and smelling of cologne. When he saw Franklin, he half-smiled. "Jesus. They got you doing this?"

Franklin shrugged, standing back up to bump Michael's fist in greeting. "It's not so bad. I'm hopin' Weston will recognize the job I did here and let me off the hook."

"Maybe. The place looks great," Michael said. "I just came to pick Amanda up. We're gonna grab dinner at some fancy place for her birthday."

"I've been wonderin', man, if Trevor saw you out tonight with her, would he do anything?"

"No," Michael said, and his tone was sincere. "Look, I know what he's like and I know he does a lot of crazy shit, but he wouldn't do that to me. He'd never do that." He sighed, his eyes lingering on Amanda across the room. She hadn't noticed he'd come in yet, she was in a big circle of her friends, talking loudly and taking pictures. Franklin turned to Michael, and the Jock looked kind of sad.

"Are you okay, man?"

"It's just her," Michael mumbled. "Amanda. She... she wants me to be someone I'm not. This big shot quarterback, I know that's how everyone sees me but, fuck, I'm not really..." he trailed off, his eyes faraway and lost. After a few beats of silence, he turned to Franklin and asked him, "Have you ever had someone that you can be completely yourself with?"

Franklin didn't know why, but the first person he thought of was Tess. "Yeah," he replied.

"Then you're a lucky kid," said Michael. "I didn't have anyone like that. Not until I met Trevor. You gotta understand, when I'm with Amanda, I have to be... different."

"In what way, man?" Franklin asked worriedly.

Michael looked so disheartened. "I have to be Michael The Quarterback with her. I have to be..." he hesitated. "See, she fell in love with this hot shot sports nut, and I know that's still how everybody sees me, but sometimes it feels like she's only with me because of that. I'm worried that, somewhere down the fucking road, she'll realize I'm not that guy. And I don't want to do that to her."

"Why not just break up with her then, dog?" Franklin said. "You're obviously not happy."

"I still love her. Fuck, isn't that stupid? It makes me miserable, but I love her. And I, fuck, I love Trevor too." He looked stunned at the words, like they had fallen out of his mouth without his permission.

"You know it's shitty to be this two-timin' guy though, right?"

"I know. And it kills me every fucking day. But there's really nothing I can do, Franklin. I’ve tried to… to make Trevor understand, but he thinks I don’t care about him. But high school is all about fake people. And after a while... I guess you just realize it's easier to become one of 'em than to try and be different."

Franklin frowned. "So you would rather pretend to be somebody you ain't, then be who you really are and be about ten times happier?"

Michael smiled softly. "I know what you probably think of me, kid."

"I like you, dog, I really do," said Franklin. "But I think you should spend a little less time worryin' about what other people think of you. If someone don't like you for you, then they ain't worth your time, Mike."

"I don't know _who_ the hell I am," Michael mumbled. "Guess I should figure that out first, huh?"

The door opened again and Lamar entered, Tess following behind him. "What's crackin', F?" Lamar grinned. "You workin' hard?"

Tess examined one of the skeleton cut-outs on the wall and smiled. "Seriously, Newbie, the place looks great. Have you ever thought about going into interior design?"

"Ha-ha."

Tess nodded politely at Michael. "Hi," she said. "You smell like someone drowned you in cologne."

To Franklin's surprise, Michael laughed. "Yeah, well, gotta make an impression."

"Frank," said Lamar, "We, uh, came to warn you. Johnny K is prowlin' outside the dorm looking for you."

"What? Why?"

"He has it out for you, homie. He won't stop until you're dead."

Franklin was alarmed. "Jesus, thanks man." He looked at the three of them and knew that this was as good a time as any. "Hey, since we're all here, I got something to tell you guys."

"Oh geez," Tess said, "who did you piss off now?"

"The opposite, actually. I talked to Dom a little bit ago and, well, he's down."

"He is?" Lamar's eyes widened. "Fuck, so that crazy scheme of yours worked."

Franklin nodded. "But he's got it all under control. He's going to do something big to Steve at the dance."

Tess bit her lip. "I don't know about that, Newbie. Sounds like you and him might get your faces pounded in."

"What does he have planned?" Michael asked.

"He won't tell me."

Michael blinked. "Shit, okay. I mean, it's not like the dance ever goes smoothly but... fuck, if that Preppie kid thinks he can knock Haines off his throne, I'm all for it."

" _Baby!_ " A voice split through the air, high-pitched and excited. Amanda was waving at Michael from the other end of the gym. "Come on, the reservation is for seven!" She narrowed her eyes at the rest of the group, Tess in particular.

It seemed to make Michael nervous. "I better go," he patted Franklin on the shoulder as he started to move. "I'll see you tomorrow then."

"He's sweet," said Tess, once Michael had gone. "Kind of scary, but sweet."

Lamar was still touching all the decorations and posters. "So, F, I guess you and me will be rollin' together."

Franklin smirked. "What happened to all those girls linin' up to take you, dog?"

"Oh. Yeah, uh, that didn't fall through quite as I'd hoped."

Nevertheless, Lamar's smile was bright. "We'll head out at nine. Don't keep ya boy waiting."

Franklin rolled his eyes. Tess was smiling. "You two deserve each other," she said.

Franklin glanced at her. "Who are you goin' with?"

He thought he saw the smallest flutter of pink brush across her cheeks. "I'm riding solo too," she said.

Lamar flung an arm around them both and pulled them roughly in, so that they were practically in headlocks. "The Three Musketeers!" he said cheerfully.

Tess shimmied out of his hold and gave him a good, old-fashioned Tess Williams smack-upside-the-head for good measure. "Don't call us that," she said.

 

* * *

 

On Friday night, Franklin thew on a pair of rumpled black pants, a black button-up and folded a piece of white cardboard. He placed the cardboard around his collar and glued both ends to hold it in place. When he was finished getting dressed, he left the bathroom and found Lamar in their room. His roommate sported jeans, a fake-blood spattered t-shirt and a dramatic, long billowing cape.

"What are you supposed to be?" Franklin asked him. "A Vegas magician?"

"Fuck you, I'm _clearly_ a vampire. I haven't put my make up on yet."

"You're making me uncomfortable."

Lamar threw a shoe at him. "Like your costume is all-that! What the hell are you? You dressed the same as usual. Wait, why is there a piece of cardboard around your collar?"

"I'm a priest, you idiot."

"A cheap-ass bitch is what you are. Didn't want to spend money on an actual costume," Lamar grumbled, but he chuckled and bent over the mountain of clothes on his bed and started rummaging through it, shirts and sweaters flying everywhere. "Put some creativity in there, dog. Somethin' like... _ah_ , this!"

A few seconds later, Lamar had placed one of his caps onto Franklin's head, and turned it backwards. After that, he grabbed a long silver chain from his nightstand and threw it around Franklin's neck.

Franklin pulled at the chain. "What the fuck?"

"A much better costume. Now you're a ghetto priest."

The campus was chaos, and had been all day. Weston left early that morning and not two seconds afterwards, Franklin had observed about ninety-five different rules being broken around the school. He decided he liked Halloween. The atmosphere was electric; some students had worn costumes to class, and it had been a lazy day as teachers let them do whatever they wanted. The day had gone by quickly, and now, it was time for the dance. It was a cool and settled evening, but the campus was anything but quiet. Franklin could hear the gym's music from the dorm; and every few minutes, a scream or five.

"Man, it's all kickin' off tonight," said Lamar. "Are you nervous?"

"Not really. I trust Dom, dog. If he says he got somethin' big, then he does."

"So the plan is to get back at Steve, right, but what about Johnny? You'll have to watch your back at this thing, F."

"Dom said whatever is goin' down with Steve will make the Greasers warm to us."

"That's ambitious, but alright. Anyway, let's go."

The gym's doors were open, spilling flashing neon lights out onto the ground, the music loud and pulsing. Inside, it was even louder, the music rattling Franklin's ribcage. It was stuffy and hot, bodies dancing close together, the lights above Franklin's head turning from acid green to electric blue to hot pink, and then back again. Barry stood at the locker room door, hanging out joints to a group of dizzy-looking freshman, while nearby the cheerleaders were beating the shit out of Beverly after he had attempted some upskirt shots. Franklin didn't even notice Tess had come up to them until she'd turned him around and hugged him.

"What are you?" she laughed.

"A ghetto priest." Her costume made his tongue feel big and awkward in his mouth. Tess wore a black top that resembled some kind of corset, belt buckles pulled around the middle of it, as well as a dark purple skirt and a black witches' hat. She wore her favourite black Converse and striped socks. "Damn," he said, swallowing. "You look good."

"Why thank you." She let go of his arm and smiled.

Lamar grabbed both ends of his cloak and shook it. "I'm a vampire."

"Oh. Is that why you have lipstick all over your chin?"

"It's supposed to be blood."

"Right." She chuckled and stretched up to hug him. "Do you guys want drinks?"

"Sure," said Franklin, and he followed her to the drinks table, where Barry immediately shoved a joint under his nose. He swatted him away.

"Dom's over there," Tess told him, pointing across the room to where a pirate stood flirting with a group of girls. Tess passed Franklin a soda and nudged him forward. "Figure out what the hell he's planning."

The girls wandered off into the crowd just about as soon as Franklin arrived. It seemed nobody wanted to hang around the kid that had almost caused Johnny Klebitz's head to explode, and damn, they were probably right.

Despite this, though, Dom gave him a huge smile, one of his teeth painted gold."Hey Franklin! Happy Halloween!"

"You too, dog. Cool costume." He gestured airily to Dom's leg. He'd done some cool designs on the plaster to make it look wooden, and he'd also stuck a fake, plastic parrot atop his shoulder.

"Thanks, bro! Figured I might as well make the most of these crutches. Lemme guess, you're a... priest?"

"Ghetto priest."

"Oh! Haha! Awesome, I love it!" Dom clapped him on the shoulder and smiled. "Shit, I was just about to go and find you actually. Our plan is ready to go."

"What is it?"

"It's _real_ simple, bro," Dom replied. "Let me ask you this: do you know why there's so much fucking hate between us and the Greasers?"

Franklin shook his head, and shrugged. "Nah, dog. I just kinda figured it was because y'all are polar opposites, you know? Preppies and Greasers don't seem the types to get along anyway."

"You're right, dude, but that's not the _only_ reason." Dom slung an arm around Franklin's shoulders and pulled him into the corner, where it was quieter. "Lemme tell you a little story, bro. Once upon a time, AKA our Sophomore year, there was a boy called Steve. Steve was the richest kid in the state, and it wasn't long before he'd taken over Harrington House. He also had a _super_ handsome best friend called The Dominator, but whatever, that's beside the point." Dom cleared his throat. "Anyway, it wasn't long before Steve got the hots for a chick. A chick unlike any other. And she liked him back, and everything was roses. Except, Chick Unlike Any Other had a problem. Her boyfriend."

"Oh, shit."

" _Yeah_ shit. Johnny Klebitz."

" _Seriously?_ So we're talking about...?"

"Ashley Butler, also known as Chick Unlike Any Other. When Johnny found out about them, he went crazy. Of _course_ he did. He got so angry that he stormed over to Harrington House in the middle of the night with the intention of beating the shit out of Steve--"

"Excuse me, dog, but what does any of this got to do with the Greasers liking us?"

"I'm getting there, dude, just wait," Dom replied. "As I was saying, Steve was about to get his ass kicked, but Ashley came after Johnny and said he wasn't to lay a finger on the guy. And Johnny listened, and he left Steve alone, because Ashley is kind of the only one who can control that maniac. Except," Dom bit his lip. "Ashley might have told him to leave Steve alone, but she didn't say _anything_ about the rest of us. Johnny tore us apart - me, Tao, all our people. So, Steve went nuts, and made a call to his daddy. And let's just say Mr. Haines has connections, because the next day, Johnny K's parents were arrested after they found... _materials_ on their computer hard-drives."

"What the fuck?"

"Johnny went crazy, and hit out at Steve again. And then Steve hit out at Johnny, and it became this back-and-forth and back-and-forth thing that just became normal after a while."

"Jesus."

"Things have been quiet recently," said Dom, "which is where our plan comes in, bro. Listen up - if we can get Steve and Ashley together and make them think their alone, then you can go tell Johnny about it, rat them out. And he'll be fucking grateful to you, bro. I swear. Johnny finds them, goes nuts, and war breaks out once again between the Greasers and us."

"Fuck," Franklin said. "I can't figure out if you're a motherfuckin' genius or the biggest idiot I've ever met in my life."

"Yeah, story of my life," Dom said. "I'll tell Steve that Ashley wants to see him in the locker room or something, and you can go and tell Ashley the same. We'll wait for a minute or two, let them get comfy, and then, you go find Johnny and tell him you saw his girl with Steve. Not only will Johnny warm up to you, but all hell will break loose between us and the Greasers, diverting Steve's attention away from you and changing Johnny's mind about wanting to kill you."

"Are you sure Ashley is gonna be here, homie?"

"She always comes with Johnny. Except he doesn't show up until the dance gets kind of wild, so you have a couple of hours to kill," Dom answered. "So, enjoy yourself man. I'll come find you when it's go-time."

"Wait, hold up a second, homie," Franklin stopped him. "Are you sure you want to fall through with this? You said Johnny's gonna go crazy, your friends are going to get hurt."

For the first time that night, Dom's eyes fell serious. "I told you, they aren't my friends," he said. "Steve's an asshole and Tao -- _jesus_ , the guy doesn't speak any English! I've been buddies with the guy for four years and we've never had one conversation!"

Franklin smiled. "Thanks, Dom."

"Don't mention it, bro." He smiled, and started to move back into the crowd. "I'll come find you!"

 

* * *

 

"Well?" Tess asked him, once he had returned to her. Lamar was too busy attacking the snacks at the buffet to notice them.

Franklin told her the story, and watched as Tess's eyebrows grew higher and higher with every word. "Shit," she said finally, "That Dom is okay. I'm gonna start being nice to him in Calculus."

"Do you really think it'll work?"

"I don't know," she said. "But I guess it has to."

The music changed, going from something loud and energetic to something slow and dream-like. There were a few groans around the gym, 98% of which were from the boys, while the girls squealed and shrieked and acted like a slow song at the Halloween dance was the greatest thing that could ever possibly happen to them. When Franklin glanced back to Tess, he couldn't help but notice they were standing in the middle of swaying couples.

He gulped. "Uh." _Smooth, Franklin_. "Do you want to...?"

She shrugged. "Do you?"

"I can't really dance."

"Neither can I, but I guess we should give it a try."

And then she had taken two steps forward and wound her arms around him, interlocking her fingers at the nape of his neck. Franklin rested his hands on her waist, suddenly feeling very self-aware of the nervous clamminess of his palms. They moved awkwardly, which was understandable, as slow dancing wasn't exactly something Franklin had learned in the hood. But after a while, they settled into some sort of rhythm, and Franklin was quite enjoying it. She was warm and soft, and he'd never really thought about her that way before. When he looked down, Tess was all soft smiles and delicate liquid lines. How had he never noticed that before? His chest felt tight.

"It's not exactly Springsteen," Tess said suddenly, and it took Franklin a moment to realize she was talking about the music. "My dad loved Springsteen."

She'd told him about her family back at Denny's all those weeks ago, but she'd never mentioned a father and Franklin had known it wasn't his place to ask. But if she was bringing it up, he felt obliged. "Really?"

"Oh yeah. He went to, like, thirty concerts, and I'm not exaggerating. He and my mom danced to an acoustic version of _Dancing In The Dark_ at their wedding."

"What does your old man do?"

"He was a History teacher."

Franklin noticed the 'was', and the painful look that accompanied it. And he understood. "How did he...?"

"Cancer."

"Oh. I'm sorry."

"Not your fault." She smiled, and glanced down at their shuffling feet. "He was cool as fuck, though. I miss him a lot. I mean, my mom's amazing and all, but I guess it's just..." she trailed off and snapped her head back to look at him, as if she hadn't meant to go on. "I'm sorry, this is random. I don't know why I'm telling you all of this."

"No, I don't mind. I feel you, too. My mom and dad are both gone."

" _Both_  of them?" Tess gasped. "Oh my God, Franklin, I'm so sorry."

He shrugged, and smiled to show her that it was okay. "It's cool. Mom died years ago, and actually, I don't think my old man is actually dead... I just don't know where he is."

"Sucks, doesn't it?"

"I guess so," he murmured. "Family's always kind of been an elusive thing for me."

The music went on. Franklin was finding it difficult to look at Tess for some reason, it felt awkward looking her in the eye, but he forced himself to do it anyway. She blinked back, smirking. Had her eyes always been that color? He never noticed the flecks of yellow in them before.

She was studying him just as intently. "I can't believe that about a month ago, I hated you."

"Thanks."

She chuckled. "You know what I mean, Newbie," she said. "Still, I'm really sorry about all of that. I shouldn't have been such a bitch." She hesitated. "When my dad died, I got kind of quiet, and a lot of my old friends left me. Then I met Brad and Stretch and, jesus, I don't know. It just seemed... _easier_ to change myself to make people like me, than to actually be myself. I think I was just...scared."

Michael's words about fake people and fitting in came back to Franklin. It was clear to him now, because Tess and Michael were both right. It was easier to be somebody you weren't. And everybody was scared. Michael was scared, Tess was scared. All the cliques were scared, he realized. That was why there was such reluctance to change things up, because people were terrified of exactly that: change.

"And how do you feel now?" he asked.

She raised her head and looked at him hard, her face just inches away. "I--"

Before she could answer, a hand came down hard on Franklin's shoulder and nails dug into his skin. In seconds, he was ripped from Tess's arms and being dragged out of the crowd, pulled through the couples by an iron grip. His heart plummeted into his stomach. This was it - Johnny, probably going to take him outside and skin him. Franklin tried to shake loose but the grip was too strong. Finally, after being dragged all the way over to the front doors, he was released, and spun around to face his kidnapper. He jumped back in fright, forgetting for a moment that this was Halloween and that the paint on Johnny's face was fake. Way to look tough, Franklin. The face paint was of a skeleton's skull, and creepily realistic. Huge black shadows around the eyes, chalky-gray skin. However, when Franklin looked a little closer, he saw that something was wrong. The figure was taller than Johnny, and skinnier. He wore soiled black cargo pants and a loose-flowing black vest, and the tattoos were all-too-familiar.

" _Trevor!_ " Franklin hissed. "What the fuck are you doing here, man?"

"Hey kid. What's with the hat?"

"I'm a ghetto priest. Listen, you can't be here, you--"

"I actually _can_ , excuse you! Did you recognize me with this shit?" He pointed at his face. "I'm _blending in_."

Trevor was probably the last person on earth who was good at 'blending in'. Still, Franklin looked at the make-up, and saw that Trevor's real face was barely distinguishable. He looked like any other guy in fancy dress at Halloween. Franklin had only recognized him because he knew him well. "Man, this is crazy," said Franklin.

"You're just pissy because I interrupted you and your _girlfriend_."

"She's not--"

"Where's Michael?" Trevor demanded.

Franklin's heart sank. "Look, man, it's different here. You can hang with him all you want while you're outside these fucking gates, but Michael could get in serious trouble--"

"Are you telling me what I can and can't do?" Trevor's temper flared. "I'm not going to do anything or say anything, jesus. I just want to _see_ him. Where is he?"

Franklin scanned the crowd, found Michael, and instantly regretted it, because Trevor followed his gaze and saw Michael and Amanda engaged in a passionate kiss on the dance-floor. The song was drawing to a close and they were wrapped up in each other, Amanda's hands buried in his shirt. He was Frankenstein, complete with painted-on neck bolts, and she was Frankenstein's bride. Trevor probably saw it as the universe fucking with him, Franklin realized: the fact she was kissing him in a wedding dress. Trevor probably had nightmares that looked the same.

He glanced back at Trevor and his suspicions were pretty much confirmed. Trevor didn't look angry. He looked totally dejected. His eyes, round and sad, amongst all the make-up.

"Dog," Franklin said softly, "Wanna head outside with me? I could use some fresh air."

 

 

Trevor nodded, didn't say a word, and followed him outside. The air was refreshingly cool and Franklin drank it all in, letting the stuffiness of the gym dissolve from his lungs. He pulled himself up onto the low stone wall that ran around the whole campus, and Trevor joined him. After a moment, Trevor pulled out a cigarette and lit it.

"You want one?" he asked, his voice uneven.

"No thanks, homie. I'm good."

The silence was strange. Franklin had never witnessed Trevor this quiet before. "It's cool of you to come, T. That skull paint is cool."

Trevor didn't answer, just watched his cigarette smouldering between his fingers.

"How've you been?"

"The trailer was too quiet," Trevor said finally, in a voice totally unlike him. "So I remembered Michael mentionin' something about this fucking dance, so I came down here." He took a drag from the cigarette with more force than was necessary. "I _missed_ him. Figured I'd surprise him." He snorted. "He's clearly wrapped up in other things."

"T--"

"I _hate_ him, you know?" Trevor went on. "I hate him. I hate his fucking _guts_. That self-centered, obnoxious, dishonest piece of _shit_. His fucking high school football career is more important to him than... than--"

"Than you?"

"Than _everything!_ " Trevor snapped.

Franklin wondered when the hell he'd gotten wrapped up in this soap opera, and sighed. "He cares about you, you idiot," he said. "He told me yesterday how much he cares about you. This thing with you, him and Amanda is tearing him apart, dog."

"Good. I'm glad. Soon enough, he's gonna have to pick, and if he makes the wrong choice by picking that crazy chick, he can go fuck himself. Because I'm done waiting around, I've been done for a long fucking time!"

"What about last summer?"

A wordless moment passed as Trevor gaped at him. "Excuse me?"

"He told me you took 6 buses or something to come see him last summer. Said you missed him and you pretty much made his night by showing up. Sounds to me like you ain't done, homie."

Trevor sighed. "I hate him."

"That's okay. I think he hates himself too."

 

 

* * *

 

 

After a few hours, the dance became  _screaming madness_. The gym was now packed with some severely inebriated zombies, witches, superheroes, monsters and... bloody Playboy bunnies, courtesy of the cheerleaders. Franklin wasn't drunk, but was feeling a pleasant warm buzz as he clutched his cup and observed his drunken classmates on the dance floor. It wasn't really dancing anymore, just sloppy and jerky movements. Whatever was in that punch, it was good stuff.

Lamar was sitting on the ground at Franklin's feet, groaning into his knees and mumbling. Franklin had discovered that drunk Lamar was capable of having a complete conversation with himself, and was also significantly less cheerful than sober Lamar. Tess was at the buffet table doing shots with Tonya, a raggedy-looking girl Franklin seldom saw around. Tess wasn't that drunk, just happily tipsy, and Franklin was having a hard time keeping his eyes off her. He had the strangest urge to march over there and strike up a conversation, just start talking to her about anything, but confusingly, he couldn't bring his legs to move. That didn't make any sense. It was Tess, he could talk to her whenever he wanted. So why was he so  _nervous_?

"Ho- _mie_ , ho- _mie_ ," Lamar was tugging on his pant leg and groaning. "I think I'm gonna puke, dude!" _  
_

"Don't do it on my shoes, dog." Franklin scooped him up and helped him over to a trash can, where Lamar proceeded to empty out his dinner, lunch and probably most of his breakfast. Franklin clapped a hand over his mouth and recoiled. "You're a fuckin' tragedy, L."

"And you're a  _bitch!_ Errrrbody is a bitch!" Lamar's hands were braced on either side of the trash can. "Where's that crazy dude? I feel like I could take 'em on right now, F, seriously!"

"That would be a very _bad_ idea. Are you alright now?" Franklin patted his back awkwardly and waited for Lamar to straighten before he took the crook of his arm, and pulled him gently away. "Find someplace to sit your drunk ass down." He rolled his eyes. "I guess you ain't gonna be much help with Johnny Klebitz."

"Man, send that fucker my way!" Lamar started throwing his fists around, put hit nothing but air. "I'll kill 'em myself! Ol' bitch ass bitch!" 

Franklin eased his roommate down onto the gym's bleachers. "Stay here a while, alright dog?"

"Frank, I'm seein' two of you, and they both ugly!"

"I'll come get you in a bit." Franklin chuckled and moved back into the crowd. He hadn't seen Trevor in a while, and it seemed Michael had also disappeared. That was hardly a coincidence. Franklin glanced over at Tess again and found her dancing to the deafening beat, waving her arms and shaking her hips. His heart felt like somebody was pinching it, and he was really about to go over there, like his legs were actually moving this time, when someone grabbed his arm and pulled on it hard.

" _Bro_!" It was Dom, struggling to stay upright on his wobbling crutches. "Johnny and Ashley just walked in."

Franklin's heart gave a sharp  _jolt_ as he realized it was time. Panic threatened to set in, but he pushed it to the back of his mind and forced himself to believe that this would work. Dom pointed through the crowd towards the door, where Johnny was standing in his usual leather jacket with those same two Greasers, Rocco and Oscar. Johnny's face was covered by some kind of monster mask, but Franklin knew instantly that it was him.

"Are you ready?" Dom asked.

Franklin nodded. "Yeah, I guess so," he whispered. 

"Ashley just went over to the drinks. You go and tell her that Steve wants to meet her in the locker room right now, okay? I'll go find Steve." Dom squeezed Franklin's shoulder and hopped away out of sight.

Franklin sucked in a breath of air and looked across the room. There were a dozen girls gathered at the drinks table, but he knew Ashley by her red hair. She stood biting into a candy apple, sort of swaying on the spot with a dazed look in her eyes. 

"Oh my god, your costume is  _crazy_ ," she said, when Franklin plucked up the courage to make his way over. 

"Uh, thanks. Yours too." She was sporting a rumpled leather jacket over some kind of poofy emerald-green dress, and there was a tiara perched lopsidedly atop her hair. She wasn't bad looking, but a little too greasy for Franklin's taste. 

"Were you gonna ask me to dance or somethin'?" Ashley asked, grabbing the table behind her for balance as she swayed. "Cause I'll say yes, but I'm gonna have to bend down to reach you."

Franklin wasn't sure if she was trying to be funny or if she was actually being serious. He smiled thinly. "No, but your boy Steve sent me."

She tilted her head. "Steve...?"

"Uh, Haines?"

" _Oh_ , right! That hot rich kid. Right. We used to fuck around back in the day. He wants to see me?"

Franklin checked that Johnny was breathing down his neck. Then he said, "Steve was hopin' you would, uh, meet him in the locker room."

Ashley grinned. "Oh really? That cocky moron... but sure, I'm down. To be honest, my boyfriend's pissing me off tonight."

"How come?"

" _God_ , he's just all riled up over some Sophomore disrespectin' him. I remember Steve being  _way_ more laid back. I'll go right now. Here, hold this for me, would ya?" And she passed him her half-eaten candy apple, and staggered away towards the locker rooms.

Franklin stood there for a moment, bemused, caramel dripping onto his hand. When he turned around, he saw Dom hobbling towards him with a smile on his face. 

"She passed me on her way in," said Dom, "Good job, dude. Oh hey! A candy apple!"

"You can have it if you want."

" _Sweet!_ Thanks, bro." Dom bit into it and sighed happily, carmel and chocolate sticking to his teeth. 

"What did Steve say?"

"Oh, the usual bullshit." Dom groaned. "I just said Ashley wanted to see him and he strutted off, acting like he was God's gift to women or something." He checked his watch - which was so gold and expensive looking it seemed to radiate sunbeams. "Let's give those lovebirds another couple minutes," he said, and smiled. "So, how was your first Bullworth dance?"

"Uh, it was an experience, man."

"Yeah. We got Prom this year, which is like this only people are dressed like movie stars and not... ghetto priests." He chuckled. "You're a cool guy, you know. I don't mind getting my ass kicked for you."

"Dom, if you don't want to go through with this--"

"I _want_ to. My leg's already broken, they'll just kick me around for a while. Honestly, it's Steve that's gonna get annihilated." Dom took another bite of the apple and looked around. "Oh! Oh fuck! Check it out, Johnny's looking for Ashley."

Sure enough, Johnny looked grim and frantic, his eyes roaming around the gym at a mile a minute, scanning for his girlfriend. Franklin gulped. "Guess it's time." He nodded at Dom and moved away from him, his chest growing tight. He was only a few feet away from Johnny when the Greaser looked over and noticed him.

" _Clinton!_ " The shout rattled Franklin's bones. "I've been looking for your ass! You owe me a fight."

"Yo, I-I saw your girl--"

"You what?"

"Your girl, Ashley. If you're lookin' for her, I saw her go into the locker rooms with Steve Haines."

Johnny did not react at first. And then, everything seemed to happen very fast. Johnny released a furious-sounding shout and the crowd around him jumped back, some even bolted to the other side of the room. And then Johnny took off - stomping across the dance floor and shoving bodies out of his way, sending a couple kids hurtling to the ground. It was like watching a bulldozer drive through a china shop. Franklin stood and stared as Johnny reached the locker rooms and thumped through the door. A crowd gathered there after he disappeared inside, and the music wasn't loud enough to cover the hushed voices. 

Franklin felt somebody close to him and glanced over to see Lamar, his eyes heavy lidded. "What's goin' on?" he mumbled.

Franklin flicked his gaze back to the locker room's shut door, and the whispering crowd around it. "Trouble," he said.

 _Bang!_ Franklin leapt back in surprise as the door was suddenly kicked open. Johnny came through it, dragging a kicking-and-screaming Steve by the collar of his shirt. Behind him, Ashley was crying and screaming something incoherent and angry. But Johnny wasn't listening, there was a furious haze around him that made the crowd take five large steps back. The music was cut off, and the silence rang like alarm bells in Franklin's ears. He could hear Johnny's laboured breathing from across the room.

Steve was thrown to the ground. Johnny delivered a savage kick to his stomach and roared, "Come on, get _up_ you trust-fund piece of shit! Let's see what you got!"

"Holy shit, Johnny K is fighting Steve Haines!" Someone screamed. The crowd got louder, started to heckle. Franklin grabbed Lamar and held him back. It didn't seem like a good idea to go over there. 

"I'm gonna rip you in half!" Johnny pulled Steve to his feet. Seconds later, his fist collided with Steve's jaw. Franklin heard a crack. The crowd gasped, jeered louder. Steve staggered. He tried to hit back, but Johnny was bigger and surprisingly quick. He drove his knee hard into Steve's stomach, and sent the Preppie down again. 

It wasn't long before a group of Preppies burst from the crowd. Two of them ran head-first into Johnny and tried to take him down, but Johnny's own friends were there in seconds, peeling them off him and shoving them backwards. Johnny smashed Steve across the face again, but this time, Steve managed to swing and catch Johnny's eye. Johnny roared and clutched at it. It only made him angrier.

Dom had been pulled from the crowd by Rocco. He swung his crutch like a sword and it was surprisingly effective, knocking three Greasers down like bowling pins. But it wasn't long before he was seized under the arms and dragged down. He landed right on his cast and yelled out in pain.

It could have been the fact Johnny's rage was contagious, or it might have been because everybody was smashed out of their minds, but within minutes Franklin was suddenly looking at an enormous, chaotic brawl. Preppies hitting Greasers, Greasers hitting Preppies,  _other students_ kicking the shit out of each other. Girls scratched and pulled hair, boys tackled and punched. The angry mob swallowed everybody up, and all Franklin saw was a big ball rushing towards him, fists and feet flying out of it, like some kind of cartoon. His heart skipped a beat as he realized they were about to be engulfed by the brawling crowd. He noticed that Mr. Yetarian and Chef had run in, and were doing their best to restrain some of the students, but it was an impossible task.

Tess suddenly materialized out of thin air, and grabbed both Lamar and Franklin's hands. "We have to get  _out_ of here!" She yelled, and suddenly Franklin was running, away from the mob and out the door. 

Lamar was a dead weight they had to pull. They ran all the way back to the boys dormitory, which was of course, completely quiet and deserted. For once, it was a safe place to be. 

Lamar looked like he was going to puke again, so Franklin wrapped an arm around his shoulders and eased him up the steps, Tess following behind. They were all breathing heavily, their lungs stinging with the cold night air. It was warm inside and softly lit. Franklin went to the dorm room and nudged open the door. Lamar went for the bed automatically. He lay down and squeezed his eyes shut, groaning.

"Bitches makin' me run," he muttered, irritated. "I am too drunk to be dealin' with this  _shit_."

"These bitches might have just saved your life, asshole," Tess frowned. She looked at Franklin with wide, horrified eyes. "Newbie, what the  _fuck_ happened back there?"

"Dom's plan fell through."

" _Jesus_. Do you think he's okay?"

"Probably not. I think I should go back for him."

"And get wrapped up in that mess? No fucking way. Stay here, I don't want you to get hurt."

Lamar was asleep. Fast asleep with smudged lipstick on his chin, his mouth wide open. Tess looked down at him and smiled. She reached down and pulled the blankets up over his frame, took off his glasses and set them on the nightstand. Franklin was looking at her again, thinking about how weird _and_ nice it was to have her in their room. 

There was a silence as the two of them stood there and watched Lamar. Franklin wondered if he should tell her he was glad she didn't get hurt, either. He felt like he should, and he wanted to. But before he could, the door of the room opened and he was stunned to see Trevor and Michael standing there, poking their heads in.

"The fuck?" Michael asked. "We thought we heard - why are you guys back already?"

"A fucking fight broke out at the dance, dog," Franklin answered. "Johnny started beating the shit out of Steve, and so the Preppies jumped on the Greasers and then... fuck,  _everybody_ started going at it."

Michael's eyes widened. " _Amanda_ ," he said, and went to move, but Trevor caught him by the hand and held him back. Franklin couldn't help but notice they weren't really clothed. So  _that's_ where they went.

"Don't worry," Tess said to Michael, her eyes soft. "I saw her running out just as the fight got out of hand. She's fine."

Michael relaxed visibly, exhaling out long and slow. "I still should go find her. Are you okay, kid?"

"I'm fine, homie. Just a little surprised."

"A fight and I  _missed_ it?" Trevor scowled. "Happy fucking Halloween."

Michael looked at him. "You should get out of here, everybody will be back soon."

Trevor smiled wickedly. "I can just hide in the closet again. Wait for that dipshit roommate of yours to fall asleep, then just like last time,  _sneak_ across the room--"

"No, Dave'll be all fired up if there was a fight," Michael interrupted, shaking his head. "You gotta go, like, for real."

Trevor sighed. " _Fine_."

"I'll come see you after school," Michael said. "Like always. Come on, T."

Trevor's scowl didn't disappear, not even when he dipped his head and captured Michael's lips in a chaste kiss. His face was still vexed when he walked past them seconds later, carrying his shirt and shoes. The door slammed. 

Michael looked around at them all apologetically. "I should go." He nodded at Franklin. "You can tell me everything tomorrow."

"For sure, dog."

Michael left with a weak smile. Tess bit her lip awkwardly and pulled on the hem of her skirt. "Guess I better get back to my own dorm," she mused, "The amount of testosterone in this one is kind of suffocating."

Franklin smiled and walked with her back to the door. He was very aware of the swirling sensation in his stomach. Tess smiled at him. "You're probably the best and worst thing to happen to this school, Franklin."

He leaned against the door to watch her go, and then he shut the door. He returned to his room and sat on the bed, a pounding ache in his frontal lobe. _Happy fucking Halloween._

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Credit for the AMAZING artwork you saw above goes to the wonderful digimomz.tumblr.com ! I can't stop staring at it. <3
> 
> This chapter was a lot of fun to write! It was also important to me to get Michael's character across - even in the game, he is miserably caught between two different worlds, with everyone trying to make him be somebody else. I also hoped you enjoyed the cutie that is Dom, Steve getting his ass kicked, and drunk Lamar. Because wow. 
> 
> And honestly, you are the most amazing readers ever! Your feedback means the absolute world to me. And while I would never force you to comment, today just happens to be my BIRTHDAY, so... let me know what you think ;) 
> 
> Hope you enjoyed this one. There will undoubtedly be a delay for the next chapter, but I appreciate you sticking with me. I love you. Like, a lot.  
> /end obnoxiously long author's note <3


	15. Keeping Secrets

 

November came. And with November, also came great sheets of icy rain, chilly nights and crisp, clear mornings. The radiators in the dormitories and school building were going full blast from the time the students got up to the time they fell into bed, and there was always a great rush for a hot shower in the evenings. Everyone was wrapped up in parkas and duffle coats and acting as though cold weather was some crazy new phenomenon, but at least Christmas was coming. The fact that the holiday vacation was going to soon be upon them seemed to have put the majority of Bullworth students in a fairly good mood, and already, festive lights and Christmas trees were starting to pop up around Bullworth town. Some of the boys in the dormitory were already starting to pack their bags.

Franklin, who had accepted long ago that he was going to be spending his Christmas break at Bullworth, didn't really know how to feel. He'd never spent Christmas away from home before, but then again, it wasn't as though last Christmas or the Christmas before it had been particularly gleeful or memorable. Denise never got him anything; instead seeing the dinner she made as the only present Franklin could ever need. When he'd been a kid, the day had gone in easier and faster because there were snowmen to build or snowball fights to have with the neighbourhood kids. But at sixteen, there wasn't much he could do except sit in the living room and pick turkey out of his teeth, maybe watch a couple game shows or a few of the festive movies were on TV. That was really it, so what was there to miss?

Nevertheless, the idea of waking up in a silent dorm on Christmas morning wasn't exactly uplifting. Lamar was going home, and so was Tess. He didn't feel like it was quite time to start hanging out with Dom, either. Still, Franklin tried to tell himself that he'd have a good time. He'd finally be able to have control of the TV, no matter how busted the buttons were, and he'd have quiet to fall asleep to, and as much as he wanted to eat in the cafeteria. It would be good. He really didn't have any other options except to enjoy it.

On one cold Sunday morning, two weeks after the dance, Franklin wrapped up warm and wound a scarf around his neck, and followed Lamar down to the football field. The frost made it look as though it had been dusted with sugar, the grass twinkling silver and white. The Bullhorns were in the centre of the field, shivering their asses off in their football gear, desperately trying to warm up as Coach Quinn, safe and snug in an enormous pink parka and snowboots, screamed at them to drop and do twenty push-ups. They were beating teams again and normality had been restored, as had Michael's sanity. Franklin could see the quarterback, all blue-lipped and trembling, rubbing his goosebump-covered arms with his team mates.

Lamar and Franklin flopped down onto the bleachers, the coldness of the seats stinging sharp for a minute through their pants, before settling and fading away. There were a few other people about; just kids like them out for a walk around the campus after a stuffy night's sleep in the dorms, or some having snowball fights by the observatory. Someone had constructed a penis out of snow at the far corner of the football field. People were taking pictures with it. It made Franklin smile.

He'd asked Lamar to help him with Chemistry, though the stack of books and notes that Lamar had brought with him was alarming. "Maybe if you get better at Chemistry you can finally start helpin' me in class, homie," Lamar said.

"But you do such a good job, dog. I don't wanna interfere."

Lamar snorted. "Sure you don't. But it's easy as shit, you'll get it in no time." He flipped a couple pages to the a picture of the periodic table. "You'll need to learn some of this shit off, if you want to move your grade up."

"Like _memorize_ it?"

"Not all of it," Lamar replied. "Just the important stuff." He saw Franklin looking at him blankly. "Like, here dog, listen." And then Lamar snapped the book closed and shut his eyes. "Antimony, arsenic, aluminium, selenium, hydrogen, oxygen, nitrogen, rhenium, nickel, neodymium, neptunium, germanium --"

" _Lamar_ ," Franklin put a hand on his shoulder to stop him. "What the fuck? How did you...?"

Lamar shrugged. "Ain't nothin'. I'm good at remembering things. Just how my brain works, homie."

Franklin could feel his jaw hanging open, the cold breeze numbing his lips. He nudged Lamar in the ribs. "You wasted on this shithole, man," he told him, amazed. "You should be in one of them Ivy League colleges, not fuckin' high school."

Lamar grinned. "Well, hopefully that's where I'm headin'." He was quiet for a minute. "I wanna be a doctor, you know."

"For real, homie?" Franklin smiled. "That's cool, L." Lamar shook his head, and Franklin was confused. "Huh?" he said. "It's not cool?"

"I told you about my mom, didn't I?" said Lamar. "She worked her ass off to send me here, but it's hard you know, 'cos of all the other little kids. And I mean, we've never had money, but we always made do." He sighed heavily, his voice trailing off.

Franklin nudged him again. "What's on your mind?" Lamar glanced down at his hands. "My mom's pregnant again."

"That's great, L!" Franklin smiled. "Uh, isn't it?"

"Of course it is," Lamar said fiercely. "I got three little brothers and a little sister who I love to death already, one more is fuckin'... it's amazin', dog."

"...But?"

" _But_ , another kid comin' into the picture makes my chances of coming back here next September kind of doubtful." Lamar looked out across the football field. "It'll be too much on my mom, you know, financially? And I don't want to do that to her, fuck no. So, I need to get this scholarship. I have to get and maintain a damn 3.0 grade point average this year."

"Jesus," said Franklin. "Man, that's a lot to put on yourself."

"I don't care, I'm good for it." And then, Lamar laughed. "I'm tellin' you, Frank, I'm a damn intellectual. I go _hard_ with this academic shit. I know I can do it."

"Well, I think you can too. If you weren't here next year, man, it would suck for sure."

Lamar raised an eyebrow, a funny little smirk working its way onto his face. "Oh really, huh? So you're gonna be coming back to Bullworth too? You're done with your expulsion record?"

"I like it here." Franklin was being honest. "It's fucked up as all hell here, but I still like it. More than anywhere else. And I ain't never been friends with someone like you before, neither. Can't leave you on your own. Where would you be without me to watch out for your ass?"

"You making me all mushy inside, homie."

Franklin laughed. "Just shut up and teach me some of this shit, L." He glanced down at the page and wrinkled his nose. "You deserve some kinda medal for understanding all of this, Dr. Davis."

"Dr. Davis," Lamar was grinning like he'd won the lottery. "That does sound _tight_ , dog, don't it? Man, chicks will be flockin' then for sure. Chicks love doctors."

"I thought you wanted to cure cancer or somethin', not get girls."

"Oh, well, sure. I'll do that too."

 

* * *

 

 That afternoon, Franklin went to the auto shop. It had just begun to snow, the first flakes he'd seen that day. He watched them with interest as they landed on his coat sleeves, his gloves, tiny cold specks. It looked like dust falling from the sky. Maybe it would be a White Christmas after all. 

Despite the chill in the air, he felt very hot. He was sweating, in fact, his heart pounding so hard in his chest that it felt like a thousand fluttering wings beating against his ribs. He listened to the crunch of his shoes in the snow as he went, and glanced behind him to see the trail of footprints he was leaving behind. At least if he died over here they would know where to find him. 

The smell of ice and snow was quickly mixed with the stench of gasoline and grease, and Franklin heard them before he saw them. Raised, boisterous voices, all male, shouting and laughing and throwing swear words back and forth as terms of endearment. Franklin slipped through the gap in the wall, and saw them clustered together like a herd, jostling each other by the shop's garage doors, not far away from where Franklin had destroyed their precious bikes. They seemed to be frozen into their leather jackets, the material squeaking and groaning with every movement. 

Johnny was right in the middle, smoking a cigarette and sporting a navy-blue woolly hat over his buzz cut. Franklin took a deep breath, the cold of it biting at his lungs, and tried to look tough as he made his way over.

"Look alive, boys," said the Italian-American kid, Rocco or something. He made a big show of cracking his knuckles and clenching his fists as Franklin came over. "It's the short stump. That bike wrecking motherfucker." He leered at Franklin. "You must be the stupidest kid I've ever met, coming here by yourself. I think he wants his ass beat, Johnny." The other boys cheered and nudged each other in unison. 

Franklin shook his head. "No, I didn't come to get my ass beat. I actually wanted to talk to Johnny. Alone."

Johnny raised his eyebrows and went to speak, but Rocco was there first. " _Alone_ , huh? You're a brave man,  _stronzo_. But m'sorry to tell you, nobody tells Johnny to do nothin'. Whatever you gotta say, you'll say here."

"No, I won't." Franklin met his eyes, hard. "I don't like being outnumbered." He glanced at Johnny. "You don't need to be surrounded by your bodyguards all the time, dog. I wanna talk to you, without these assholes breathing down my neck."

Rocco snarled. "Listen you little shit, you got balls comin' here, but now I think I'm gonna rip them off--"

"Cool it, Rock." Johnny's hand came out and pushed Rocco back by the chest. He looked down at Franklin with an unreadable look. "I'm gonna go talk to the kid, you guys stay here."

"But Johnny--"

"I'm _handling_ it."

Franklin couldn't help but smirk as Johnny followed him over to the other side of the auto shop parking lot. That was the hard part over, at least. Though Rocco was still giving him dirty looks across the yard. Franklin turned his back on him and met Johnny's eyes. Upon closer inspection, the guy looked pretty out of it. His eyes were yellowed and red-rimmed, and he'd gotten some more red blemishes among the scars that were already there. Franklin wondered how many drugs this guy took to function. Ever since the dance, Johnny had been a tornado stomping around campus. Weston, naturally, had been  _pissed_ to know that a violent brawl had broken out in his absence and also that his favourite suck-up student, Steve, had had his face smashed in from here to next week. He suspended Johnny for the next month, but he ended up having to stay on campus as he had no where to go. The result was that he just didn't go to class, which he never did anyway, and spent his days patrolling Harrington House with his goons waiting for Steve to make an appearence.

Steve didn't die or anything, but he came pretty close. Or as close as you could get and still live to tell the tale. He'd spent the first week of November in the hospital and when he'd arrived back, he did so with an army of bodyguards his dad supposedly gave him. Franklin had caught a glimpse of him one morning last week as Steve went quickly up the steps to the safety of Harrington House, and the sight was both alarming and simultaneously satisfying. Steve's face was purple with bruises, his right eye swollen shut, an explosion of black and red bruises peppering his forehead and cheeks. His lips looked like they belonged to someone who had just underwent some particularly gruesome plastic surgery. And on top of that, his arrogant stride had been replaced by a weak kind of limp. 

Franklin was glad that he didn't die and all, but jesus, it was really good to see him finally get what he deserved. Right now, Franklin was keeping out of his way. 

"So?" Johnny shoved his scarred hands into the deep pockets of his jacket and rocked impatiently on his heels. "What did you want?" 

"What you did to Steve," said Franklin. "I guess I wanted to thank you."

Johnny laughed. Straight-up laughed. "You wanted to thank me, huh? Oh, I see. Well, you're welcome. Except they dragged me offa' that prick  _way_ too early. I still had to break his legs, pound his face into the ground."

"It was all him, dog," Franklin replied. "I know you won't believe me, and you probably never will, but Steve was the one who told me to fuck up your bikes."

"You still did it though, didn't you?" Johnny scowled. "Wanted to get in with those rick fucks, I bet. Fuck them, those pompous trust-fund bastards. Fuck them all. And fuck you."

Franklin nodded. "I fucked up, dog. I know it. But m'sorry, you know."

Johnny was quiet for a moment. It made Franklin very nervous. 

Finally, Johnny looked back at him, and to Franklin's relief he didn't look like he was going to punch Franklin out. "You told me about my girl," said Johnny. "Back at the dance. I would never have got the chance to kick Haines's ass if you hadn't done that." Johnny suddenly balled up his fists and made an angry, defeated kind of sound. "That  _slut_. That slut that I.. that I  _love_. She's been cheatin' on me for months, kid. I know she has."

"Ashley?"

Johnny nodded, miserable. "Fuckin' any guy she can for crank money. The drugs have got us all, man, but that don't make it right." He kicked a pebble in front of him hard, and sent it skidding away across the snow. "The dance was the first time I got proof of what she was doin', and she couldn't handle it, disappeared as usual. I know she's with one of those Townie freaks now, I  _know_ she is." He gritted his teeth and growled. 

Franklin blinked. "Uh, which Townie?"

"Fuck, probably all of 'em! That _whore_." 

Franklin reached over and patted Johnny's sleeve, but it was extremely awkward and he pulled his hand back. Johnny looked down at him. "You seem like an okay kid, despite the fucked up shit you did a few weeks ago. And I know that you've been making some kind of a name for yourself here."

"Hey, that ain't by choice," Franklin defended. "Not really."

"Still, a lot of people know you. And you seem like someone who could come in handy."

A cold shiver prickled up Franklin's spine. He took an automatic step back, knowing what was coming. " _No_ , dog. Look, I'm sorry, but I gotta stop being a doormat for everybody."

"You wouldn't be a doormat with me," Johnny said fiercely. His eyes were blazing. "Think about it, if you helped me, you could get back at those Preppie pricks. If Steve really did what you say he did."

"No. I don't want any trouble."

Johnny growled. "Then don't start trouble! Do something _else_ for me."

Franklin sighed. "Like _what?_ "

"Could you get some pictures for me? Of my girl, with any of the fucks she's cheating on me with." Johnny grabbed his wrist and pulled on it, hard enough that Franklin swore he felt his arm pop out of the socket. No wonder Steve's face was so messed up. 

"Why would I want to do that?"

"To get _proof_. So I can confront her on all of this shit. Jesus, I don't know, have some kind of motherfucking intervention. Those things on TV." 

Franklin ran a gloved hand over his chilled face. "That's all? Pictures?" He had definitely done that before, but fuck, it hadn't ended well. 

"Just pictures. A couple, some real hard shots. She's always tellin' me I'm crazy, that I'm paranoid, even though I caught her with that rich shit in the bathroom. I need these pictures to nail her."

"You could try talkin' to her."

"And have to sit through all of her lies?" Johnny snapped. "Fuck that. Kid, please. Do this and I'll let the bike thing go."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah. And maybe not slit your throat while you fuckin' sleep."

Franklin closed his eyes. He ignored the ' _no!'_ his brain was screaming at him. And then he said, "Fine. Sure."

"Fuck, this means a lot to me. Thank you." Johnny seized his hand and shook it. Franklin felt his bones rattling. "You're alright, you know."

 _No I'm not, I'm a fuckin' idiot_ , Franklin should have said, but he didn't. Instead, he pasted a weak smile on his face and nodded. "I better go. Your homies look like they're gonna charge me."

Johnny nodded back. "I'll see you around, I guess. Ashley hangs out in Old Bullworth Vale."

"Got it."

He turned his back and walked back to the dormitory, his stomach full of knots. 

The dorm was warm and full of soft light, mostly empty due to the fact it was Sunday evening and a good chunk of the students were out in the town, making the most of the remaining hours of the weekend. Lamar was at the observatory studying, and Franklin was kind of looking forward to having the room to himself. He felt like a nap, his body cold and sore from being out in the cold. He made his way to his room and pushed the door open. 

He stopped.

"Michael?"

The Jock sat on Lamar's bed, his head in his hands. He looked different. Shaken, or something, like he was freezing cold and couldn't get any heat into him. When he looked up, his eyes were wild and faintly red. The minute he saw Franklin, he leapt to his feet. 

" _Kid!_ I've been looking for you everywhere--"

"What's wrong, homie? You look like you're gonna puke."

"Oh, I did puke. Several times, in fact. Is there somewhere we can talk? Somewhere we can go?" Michael was babbling in a voice unlike his own, all hysterical and choked. He answered his own question before Franklin could. "The diner! We'll go to the diner. Nobody will be around, it'll be--"

"Michael," Franklin grabbed his arm and shook it, and finally Michael stood still. "What the _hell_ is wrong? Is it Trevor? I'm not goin' anywhere until you tell me what the fuck's got into you."

Silence. Michael was panting. He looked at Franklin for a long time, as if he were trying to find the words.

Suddenly, everything inside him seemed to break, and his face crumpled. "It's Amanda," he said in a voice brittle. "It's Amanda."

Worry flashed across Franklin. "Is she okay?"

Michael exhaled. "She's pregnant." 

 

* * *

 

One stunned silence, one anxiety attack and one five-minute walk later, Franklin and Michael were installed at a table in Denny's with two milkshakes sitting in front of them and two baskets of fries. It seemed awfully juvenile, Franklin couldn't help but notice. An adult problem and some milkshakes. Michael was only picking at his fries, had only taken a few sips from his straw. He sat rigid in his seat, looking out the window at the falling snow, at the mist now spreading out slow from between the buildings, slowly covering everything it met. Franklin drummed his fingers on the tablecloth. Michael breathed. Behind them, the radio played something annoyingly upbeat, while dishes and silverware clinked. A waitress came over to ask if everything was alright. Michael shook his head, slow and broken. Franklin just smiled at her, and she wandered away. 

Franklin was chewing his bottom lip. He'd started back in the dorm and now it was skinned to all hell and throbbing. But he couldn't stop. He took a sip of the milkshake, just to have something to do, but it didn't taste quite right. It tasted off. He couldn't find anything to take comfort from.

"Michael."

Michael didn't move, or blink, or really react at all. He was watching the fog. 

"How..." Franklin swallowed. "How long...?"

"Just took a test. She's, uh." His voice cracked. "She's due in July."

"Didn't you," Franklin hesitated. He didn't want to sound accusing. "Didn't you use a...?"

Michael rubbed his eyes. "We  _did_. But it - it split, and goddamn it, she said we'd be fine because I'd pulled out quick enough but..." He groaned into his hands. "God. Fuck. Shit, goddamnit. This is so messed up."

"And she's not gonna get a...?" Franklin didn't want to say the word out loud. There was something about Michael's shaking hands that told him not to. 

"No," Michael answered. "No, she doesn't want that and fuck, if she doesn't want it then I can't exactly..." He clenched his fist and brought it down hard on the table, the bang echoing around the diner and startling a couple a few tables away. Michael looked close to tears. "This wasn't supposed to happen," he mumbled. 

Franklin wanted to reach across the table, put his arm around the guy or pat his shoulder or  _something_ , but would it really help? He felt just as useless sitting on the other side of the table, witnessing Michael's life go to shit and not being able to do anything to help him. His heart sank heavy into his stomach, like a stone. "It's gonna be okay, dog," he said, knowing in his heart how lame it sounded. 

"No, you don't understand.  _This wasn't supposed to happen_." Michael was blinking up at the ceiling light, obviously trying not to cry. "Where I'm from, guys knocking up their girlfriends isn't exactly anything new. And I told myself,  _I fucking told myself_ , that I would never be that guy. I never wanted..." he banged the table again, looking defeated. "I was never supposed to be a stereotype."

"Mike, man--"

"That's all I am now, that's all we'll both be," Michael went on. "Just a fuckin' hick town, trailer-park stereotype. I had  _plans_ , I had dreams. I want to be in the NFL. This... this wasn't supposed to happen."

"You can still be in the NFL."

Michael snorted. "Yeah, I know. Only now I got to try really fucking hard, because if I don't get that football scholarship I won't be going to college. And then I won't be able to support Amanda and our...shit, our  _kid_. We'll be livin' off fucking food stamps and newspaper coupons." Michael grunted. "Jesus, this is so fucked."

When his eyes filled up with tears, Franklin finally reached across and squeezed his shoulder. He'd never seen anyone as tough as Michael cry before. He'd never even thought that someone like Michael _could_ cry. The charming, popular, star QB was gone now, and in his place, sat somebody real. The real Michael, the guy he was terrified to be. Franklin squeezed his shoulder again, harder this time, and gave Michael the time to let the tears slide down his face.

Michael wiped them away aggressively with the back of his hand. "M'sorry," he said, "I didn't want to put this on you, kid. But, shit, she just told me like, an hour ago, and I had to tell someone." He hooked his thumbs together and stared down at his hands. "I don't got that many friends here. I didn't know who else to..."

"What about Dave? You seem to be tight."

"Dave?" Michael snorted. "Fuck Dave. Dave's only friends with me because of the parties and the girls he gets to meet."

"Well, thanks for telling me at least, man. It's good that you got it off your chest."

"I haven't even told my parents yet," said Michael, and then he paled. "Oh  _God_. My dad - he's gonna... he's gonna fuckin' kill me. He always was on me about how something like this was gonna happen, and now he's fucking right."

"What about your mom?"

"She's gonna cry, no doubt. Cry and snot all over and scream at me over the phone. Amanda's parents are pretty much the same."

"Maybe wait a while to tell 'em, then."

Michael nodded. "Gotta... I'll wait until this is straight in my head. Fuck, it probably won't ever be." He wiped his eyes again, they looked puffy and red. "She's gonna be seven months pregnant at graduation. How fucked up is that?"

Franklin passed him one of the napkins to wipe his eyes. "So what's the move, then?" he asked. "Her parents are gonna pull her out of school, she'll go back home...?"

"No, her parents will probably kick her out."

"Shit, dog, for real?"

"Yeah. So she'll have to live with me this summer. And fuck, if I get into college could she be in the dorm with me too? I don't want her at home with my parents, just her and them and the kid." Michael took a deep breath. "When I was a freshman, a girl in the year above got pregnant and Weston let her stay. She went to class and everything, right up until she had her kid. He'll do the same with Amanda, if she has no place to go."

"That's good then, right?"

"I guess so. If she got kicked out because of me I'd..." he broke off, and then, looked at Franklin hard. "Listen to me," he said lowly. "You, me and Amanda are the only ones that know right now. And we're gonna keep that way for as long as we can. When she starts to show or whatever, people will talk then, but I don't want them talking now. I want her to have as much time as she needs, understand?"

"For sure, homie, absolutely. I won't tell a fuckin' soul."

"Not even Lamar," Michael said sternly. "I mean it, kid. Not Lamar, or Tess, or those other kids you hang out with."

"Sure, you got it."

"And one more thing," Michael leaned forward. His voice was dead serious. " _Don't. Tell. Trevor._ "

Franklin had actually forgotten about Trevor. His hands curled around the edge of the table as he stared, his eyes widening. He felt a burst of concern on Michael's behalf. "Fuck, Mike, what the hell are you gonna do about him?"

Michael's bottom lip wobbled. "I don't know. I don't fucking know. Just... keep it quiet, for as long as I fuckin' can, and deal with the consequences when the time comes." 

"He's gonna... fuck, dog, he's gonna..."

"He's got it in his head that we're gonna run away together, like some kind of fucking fairytale, and shit, I'm to blame for not stopping him from thinking that. But that was before. Before now. I have to stay with Amanda now, I  _have to_."

Franklin's heart sank. "So you're going to break up with him, homie?"

Michael looked totally deflated. Franklin knew that Michael was trying to pretend as though breaking up with Trevor was just a chore he had to face, but Michael couldn't hide his obvious heartbreak. Franklin saw it in his eyes. 

"I guess I have to," Michael replied quietly. "It's not going to be easy. Jesus, he'll probably kill me. Actually, no, he'll _definitely_ kill me." 

"I gotta agree with you on that one, dog."

"I'll break up with him when people start to find out," said Michael. "Not now. If I do it now, he'll know something is up and he'll come sniffing around here. But seriously, you have to promise me you won't tell him anything."

"I won't, dog, I promise you."

Michael wiped his nose in the napkin and scrunched it up into a ball. "Guess I'm not going home this Christmas."

Franklin smiled weakly. "Neither am I."

Michael was clearly a little relieved. "Good, because I don't think I could deal with seeing Trevor every day and having no one to talk to about this."

"We'll figure out what to do, Mike. It'll be... it is what it is, I guess. But it'll be fine."

Michael turned back to the window and watched the snow fall. "I wish I could believe you, kid. I really do."

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, that happened. And as far as that particular twist is concerned, I thought long and hard about whether or not to even do it. But in terms of where I would like Michael's character to go, it had to be done, and I have to admit, it will be interesting to write about. Also, Johnny and Ashley do have the same dynamic in this as Johnny and Lola do in Bully, so kudos if you picked that up. :) 
> 
> THANK YOU for all the amazing feedback on the last chapter, and for the birthday wishes. You guys are too fucking cool, seriously. And I even got some SUPER gorgeous art - if you haven't seen it yet, please go back a chapter and be awed. <3 My *big final exams* (scream) start Wednesday and go to the 13th, and then I'm going on a well-deserved vacation for 3 weeks. However, I'm 95% sure that the place we're staying has internet, so please God I'll be able to write. But if this fic does go quiet during that time, just know I've not given up, I'm just sleeping on a sunbed somewhere. ;) 
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this one. Tell me what you think! And to all of you doing exams - best of luck, enjoy the good summer that will come afterwards <3


	16. P.I. Newbie Clinton

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is dedicated to the lovely Núria, aka Ishtar13, who motivated me to write and gave me inspiration in what was a very stressful week! You are truly awesome.

 

Carrying around Michael and Amanda's big secret made Franklin feel as though he was literally concealing something underneath his jacket or in his pocket, something awkward and bulky and trying desperately to be loud, a secret that wanted to be found out. Every time Lamar or Tess glanced his way, Franklin noticed how he would instantly swivel his eyes elsewhere, terrified they might see right through him.

But while Franklin spent his days worried about the truth coming out, Michael, on the other hand, was doing a very good impression of a boy not bothered by anything at all. He hung out with his friends, laughed at lunch, smiled at Franklin in the hallways and continued to dominate on the football field. His sudden protectiveness of Amanda could only be noticed if you were actually looking for it. Franklin had never spoken to her, but the other day, she had hooked his gaze across the cafeteria and when he'd sent her a small, nervous smile, she'd returned it. She knew that Michael had confided in him, and if she wasn't going crazy about it, Franklin knew that she trusted him. He wanted to keep that trust safe. So Franklin got better. He trained his brain into forgetting about the Quarterback-Cheerleader baby bombshell when we was with his friends, and forgot about feeling uptight or secretive. With Lamar, Tess and the others, Franklin had mastered the art of lying. Trevor, unfortunately, was a different story.

He avoided him for a whole week before he started to get impatient, confused 'where-the-hell-are-you' text messages. Franklin was terrified that Trevor would see straight through him, because Trevor was like that. Freaky, all-knowing and seemingly omniscient powers when it came to someone around him hiding a secret. He was like some kind of bloodhound. He knew what the signs of secrecy were, and when he saw them, he was relentless, pursuing the liar like a cat after a mouse. And Franklin really,  _really_ didn't want to become the mouse.  

But he couldn't stay hiding in the boys dorm forever. He had to get out. Besides, he had work to do. 

"So, remind me what we're doing here today?" Tess said in greeting, collapsing next to him on the bench he had taken over in Old Bullworth Vale's seedier side. She was wrapped up warm and tight in about seven different kinds of winter clothes, to combat the wet snowfall and dry, crisp chill. 

"Um," Franklin hesitated. There really was no good way to say it. "We're gonna stalk Ashley Butler."

"Oh. Okay. But um,  _why_?" 

"A favour for Johnny Klebitz. He wants to know if she's cheatin' on him."

"Wow, well," Tess guffawed. "He doesn't need to get her stalked to figure that out. God, Newbie, what are you doing? You're Johnny's doormat now?"

Franklin had brought Tess with him for a number of reasons. One, stalking wasn't half as fun by yourself. Two, he didn't want to ask Lamar and make his Greaser-fearing roommate shit himself, and three, he really did want to bring Tess. He liked hanging out with her. It was easy. Free. She made his chest feel all tight, but in a way that made him want to experience it over and over again. 

He glanced sideways at her. She had tiny diamonds of snowflakes stuck in her bright hair. He had to fight the urge to reach over and brush them out. 

"I'm not anybody's doormat," he replied. "Johnny just seems like the type of cat you don't say no to. I tried, but fuck it, easier to get it over and done with. And it's not anything that'll get me in deeper shit with Weston. It's just a couple pictures."

Tess quirked an eyebrow. "I gotta say, you do have a talent for this." Franklin snorted, and she looked at him. "I'm serious! Newbie, have you ever considered following a career path in private investigation?" 

He rolled his eyes and she laughed. 

"Where did you get that?" Tess asked him, once her eyes fell upon the camera clutched in between Franklin's cold-numbed fingers.

"Beverly. He handed it over pretty quick, actually."

"Duh. He's fucking scared of you now.  _Everybody_  is."

Franklin frowned. "What?" 

"You've made yourself famous here. Nobody has ever stood up to the Preppies before like you did. Nobody ever pissed off Johnny Klebitz and survived, like you did." She smiled at him. "You're special."

Franklin glanced down at the camera. "I'm fuckin' stupid, I think."

"No," she said, and he felt her hand gentle on his arm. "Special."

There was a moment of silence as the two of them sat there, their eyes fixed on the building across the street where Ashley allegedly spent the majority of her outside-school time, according to Beverly, whose extensive knowledge of every Bullworth student's business was borderline unsettling. The building was bulky and decrepit, a visible eyesore on a street full of deplorable buildings. Franklin wondered how long they were going to be here, or if Ashley was even inside. There had been no movement in or out of the place since he arrived.

"Fuck, it's freezing," Tess stood up suddenly, brushing snow off her jeans. "Do you drink coffee, Newbie? There's a Bean Machine down the block."

"Not really," Franklin said, remembering his first taste of coffee and how it had tasted like tar in his mouth. 

"Hot chocolate, then. Best thing for a day like this." She pulled her scarf tighter around her neck and nodded. "I'll be back in a minute."

He tried not to watch her go, but his eyes ended up following her all the way down the block, until she was barely visible. It kept snowing. 

While she was gone, Franklin cracked his knuckles. He turned on Beverly's camera and flicked through a view of his photos. He found, unsurprisingly, most of them were of students in compromising positions. There were hundreds of photos of the Preppie, Poppy Mitchell, as well as a couple other photos of Amanda - real sneaky shots, taken without her noticing. There was even one of her in her dorm room, reading a magazine with earbuds in.  _What the fuck, Beverly?_ It was mean, and probably exploitative of Franklin's power over Beverly and the other kids, but Franklin deleted Amanda's pictures and didn't feel bad about it. What a creep. He'd make a wonderful paparazzi when he graduated. 

Franklin imagined Amanda's pregnancy splashed across the front pages of the school paper and felt his stomach wrench. He felt unbelievably bad for her, and for Michael. And, also, he felt just as bad for Trevor. 

"Just got you marshmallows and cream," Tess appeared again at his side, her face flushed pink from the cold, two Christmassy-styled cups clutched in her gloved hands. "The guy was like, 'have a shot of orange mocha!' and 'you gotta try the peppermint!' I mean, jesus christ." She scoffed. "They really get pissed if you like it plain, don't they?"

"I wouldn't know," Franklin took the drink from her gratefully and budged up to let her sit down. "We don't have any Bean Machines in the hood."

She smiled. "Maybe you're better off." She took a sip from her own drink and visibly relaxed. She inclined her head in direction of the building. "Any sign of our nun?"

He shook his head. "I don't even know if she's there or not."

"What? Well, fuck Newbie, what are we doing here then?" Tess elbowed him. "Let's grab dinner or something before we head back to the school, not waste our time on this shit."

The idea of dinner with Tess was more appealing than Franklin liked to admit, but even so, he shook his head again. "I gotta do this." He glanced over. "Sorry."

"No, I get it. You're the servant of the cliques."

"I'm--"

"You took down Brad and Stretch, and finally gave Steve Haines what he deserved, but don't you think it's time you, like... _relaxed_ or something? Fuck everybody else, Newbs. Do you."

"Once I get Johnny Klebitz off my back, I will," said Franklin. "Christmas break sure is gonna be fuckin' dull without any of the cliques around, though."

Tess shifted in her seat, making him turn to look at her. "Well," she said, her voice uneven. She was watching his eyes. "You can stay at my place over the break, if you want to. I mean, my mom does a fucking  _amazing_  turkey dinner, and you'd get along with my brothers for sure." Her smile was different as she was talking. Still Tess, but... different somehow. "I could show you around town and everything. It'd be fun."

Franklin smiled. "Nah, that's okay. I'm good here, really. I have the whole dorm to myself."

Tess nodded, but he saw her swallow. "No, sure, you're right. Still, if you feel like coming down, it's only a couple hours on the bus."

"Absolutely, Tess. Thanks." They smiled at each other pleasantly, but for some reason, Franklin felt weirdly guilty. He pushed the feeling away before he had to acknowledge it, and fortunately, a distraction was given in the form of Ashley Butler, who came through the door of the building across the way. Stumbling slightly, she looked like she was wandering through the forest by the dreamlike sway of her hips. 

"Oh jesus," Tess whispered. "Hot mess, twelve o'clock."

Ashley was obviously drugged out of her mind, and Franklin began to feel increasingly nervous about her slow approach towards the road. He was actually about to get up and help her out, when the door behind her opened again and a familiar figure came outside. Tall and broad with a slouched way of walking, he lumbered his way over to Ashley with a similar amount of difficulty and then caught her arm. They collapsed in a fit of hysterical laughter and nearly tumbled over.

Franklin glanced at Tess and saw that her eyes were squinted. "I know that guy," she said. "Oh, fuck, so do you."

"Huh?"

"Look! It's Greaser Number Two."

"Oh shit," Franklin hissed. " _Rocco_? She's cheatin' on Johnny with Rocco?"

Tess's eyes widened. "Newbie, take the fucking picture."

Franklin did. He snapped a shot of the two of them as they dissolved into inebriated laughter and then, as luck would have it, was able to get a few more pictures when Rocco moved in for a clumsy kiss that, even from across the street, Franklin could see was more washing-machine than passionate embrace.

"Jesus, my eyes!" Tess joked.

Franklin shushed her and stood up. He took her gently by the wrist and, carefully, started to move away from the bench, stowing the camera underneath his jacket. Tess was giddy.

"Rocco! Oh my God, Johnny is going to go  _apeshit_! That's his best friend, you know? Fuck! What is it  _with_  you and uncovering deep shit?" She caught his arm. "Seriously, become a detective. You'll be fucking famous. They'll make movies, write books. The modern day Sherlock Holmes! Only, you know, instead of supervillians, you'd hunt, uh, teenagers."

Franklin snorted. Tess didn't let go of his arm, and he didn't ask her to. They walked on for a bit, the snow dusting them off, and underneath his jacket Franklin felt like the camera was glowing red-hot. 

"I guess I should put it in my room until I see Johnny."

"You're not going to see him now? Shit, dude, there's going to be a bloodbath! Rocco's going to get his ass kicked in front of the whole school!" Her smile was bright. "That's good. Great, really. I fucking hate that greasemonkey. He's always trying to grab my ass in Gym, even though he's so gay for Johnny it's not even a secret anymore." She gasped. "Whoa, do you think Rocco's hooking up with Ashley so he can, you know, get ' _closer'_ to Johnny's dick--"

Franklin wrinkled his nose. "Ugh, that's gross." He laughed. "You're way too fuckin' excited about this shit, girl."

"I guess it is exciting, getting back at the assholes of Bullworth," Tess replied, and beamed. "Wow, if you're P.I. Newbie Clinton, can I be your sidekick?"

Franklin grinned. "You mean, the Watson to my Sherlock?"

"Holy shit!  _Yes!_ "

In that moment, Franklin felt such a weird, profound surge of affection for Tess Williams that he didn't quite know what to do. Had she always been this... adorable? He liked the idea of her being his sidekick, or her just being with him like, all the time. He liked looking at Tess, and talking to Tess, and listening to her gush about Springsteen and bitch about Principal Weston. He glanced down at their linked arms, felt the warmth from her pressed up against his side, and really regretted not saying yes to her offer about Christmas break. 

 

 

* * *

 

Lamar wasn't in the room when Franklin got back, his face and hands numb and his hair sprinkled with snow. He locked the door to the room after some asshole decided it was a great idea to bring the snow  _inside_ , and started a really violent snowball fight in the hallway. Franklin kicked his snow-caked shoes off and sat down on the bed, pushing aside a couple of his textbooks to make room. He lay back against the pillow, practically shoved his face into it to keep warm, and shut his eyes tight. It was still pretty early, only six o'clock in the afternoon, and outside his window the sky was rapidly falling to cobalt. 

He willed sleep to come, and just as he was on the cusp of it...  _knock, knock, knock._

Franklin's eyes fluttered open. He rolled over onto his back and sighed, not even having to wonder who it was. On cue, the window slid open with a creak as the ice-frosted hinges adjusted to the disturbance, and seconds later, a pair of crutches came tumbling into the room, accompanied by a very cold Preppie.

"Hey, Dom," Franklin said, doing his best to not sound annoyed.

"What's up, bro? Oh, shit, were you catching some Z's? Sorry, man." 

"Naw, it's fine." Franklin rubbed his eyes and eased himself upwards, stretching out his arms and hearing the bones crack. "What did you need, dog?"

Dom shrugged. He looked like shit still, but significantly better compared to the battered pulp he'd been right after Halloween. His black eye had faded to soft yellow and the bruises on his neck and arms had practically disappeared. Dom sat down on the edge of Lamar's bed and fiddled absent-mindedly with one of his crutches. "Eh," he said, "Just haven't seen you since... well, it all went down."

"I thought it'd be good to keep my distance, homie," said Franklin.

"No, no you were right. It was bad."

"Really?"

"Steve's kind of plotting, like, oh geez, what do you call it?" Dom sniffed. "Oh yeah, a revenge plan of mass destruction."

A chill prickled up Franklin's spine, but not from the cold. "Fuck, man, will he ever give up?"

"Probably not. He's  _pissed_  as all hell. I'm walkin' on egg shells, bro. He still thinks we're tight, but I'm kind of letting him do his own thing now. He's started using Tao to be his errand boy."

"Man, good for you, dog," Franklin said, smiling. "And you don't, you know, regret what happened? 'Cause you got the shit kicked out of you, dog."

"Well, I mean, I probably regret swinging my crutch around like a freakin'  _lightsaber,_ " Domsaid, but there was humour in his voice. "Word to the wise, bro, fighting back only makes Johnny angrier. Like, do people fight back against The Incredible Hulk when _he_ loses his shit? No, they don't, which is probably what I did wrong."

"You tried to fight the Incredible Hulk."

"Exactly, dude. Exactly. And nearly got disembowelled because of it, but whatever, you can't have it all. Did you see Steve lately?"

Franklin shook his head. "Nothing, dog. I'm avoidin' him."

Dom pulled awkwardly at his collar. "That's... probably good. He figures you had something to do with it all, so maybe watch out for yourself from now on."

"What's he gonna do?" Franklin asked. "What's this fuckin' revenge plan?"

Dom rolled his eyes, and then winced. "He's not really talking about it, just muttering under his breath like a psycho. Johnny's at the core of it, bro, but I wouldn't be surprised if you made an appearance."

"Of fuckin' course."

"Hey," Dom's eyes fell uncharacteristically serious. "You and me, dude? We're buds now. You helped me with more than I can say."

"Same to you, man. Thank you."

Franklin's pocket vibrated and he jumped in surprise. He retrieved his phone and found a text message from Trevor waiting for him. 

 

_Kid. Haven't seen u in 4ever. cum by the trailer and hang out! wud not recommend saying no._

_-T_

 

"Everything okay, Frank?" Dom said worriedly, obviously seeing the way Franklin's shoulders sank. 

"It's cool," Franklin replied, typing back a hasty ' _OK, see you soon_ ' before stashing his phone back into his pocket. "I just gotta go see a friend right now. But it's been good hanging out, dog. You need anything else, holler at me."

Dom chuckled. "Nah, I think I'm done using your powers for evil." He stood up and clapped Franklin on the back. "See you around, man. Don't be a stranger."

After he left, Franklin slipped his shoes back on and tried very hard not to freak out. Trevor was going to wrestle the truth out of him eventually, and Franklin wasn't sure how ready he was to lie to Trevor's face. But he was going to try, at least. He'd never do that to Michael. 

Grabbing his coat, Franklin glanced at the door and heard the unmistakable sounds of the snowball fight getting even more out of hand. He went out the window. 

 

* * *

 

 

The walk to Trevor's was heavy with anxiety. By the time the trailer came into view, Franklin's heart was pounding so hard he could feel it against his trachea. He told himself to keep cool, to just sit and chew the fat with Trevor and, under no circumstances, bring up Amanda. Avoiding the subject of Michael would be harder, seeing as, oh yeah, Trevor just happened to have a  _giant fucking poster_ of Michael on his wall. The snow was wet and stung Franklin's face as it fell. He pushed through it, picking his way through the cemetery and slugging through the deep snow.

Franklin paused for a few seconds before he raised his hand, and rapped loudly on the door.  He took a deep breath and felt his lungs wheeze with the biting chill of it. 

The door swung open. Franklin braced himself, steeled himself against both the wind and Trevor's intense gaze. But Trevor only grinned. He was wearing an old Impotent Rage t-shirt, as well as a pair of battered jeans.

"Franklin!" The townie raised the beer in his hand in greeting, beer sloshing around inside. "Good to see you, old chum."

"Um, yeah. Hey, T. How are things?"

"Simply wonderful." Trevor held the door wide open, and a gust of warmth melted Franklin's chattering bones. "Get your ass in here, I'm freezing my dick off!" 

Franklin's fists were clenched when he stepped inside. The place looked as soiled and ransacked as ever, the floor littered with crushed beer cans and various microwave-dinner wrappings. The barely-functioning TV was showing the same episode of  _Republican Space Rangers_ as the last time Franklin was here, and there was a distinct odour of piss that Franklin fought very hard to ignore. 

"Beer, Frankie?" Trevor tossed him one anyway, before he could answer. "Good boy." Trevor swivelled around to face the couch and gave a great, dramatic sigh. "Don't hog the couch, you fat turd." He pushed Franklin forward with a "Sit down, kid", and it was only then that Franklin realized Michael was also in the room. 

He smiled at Franklin over the rim of his beer and shifted up a space on the couch. "How are things, Frank?" he asked.

Relief. Sweet relief. With Michael here, Franklin would be less nervous about accidentally slipping up when talking to Trevor. And besides, Michael was a good enough liar for the both of them. He was safe. "I'm good, dog, thank you. You?"

Michael half-smiled, but only Franklin knew the reason for the sad twinge in it. "Okay. Things are okay."

"Don't get too comfortable, Franklin," Trevor said cheerfully. "We're going out."

"We are?"

Trevor nodded enthusiastically. "I wanna get wasted and hang out on that hill above the carnival. So, yeah. We're going out." He flicked his bright eyes at Michael. "You too, porkchop, unless you have to go bra shopping with Amanda or something."

Michael rolled his eyes as he stood up. "Funny, T." 

"Bring your beers! Actually, here, bring a lot of beers." Trevor passed Michael the heavy crate of  _Pißwasser_ he had on his table, which Franklin could only presume had been stolen off the back of a delivery truck. Next, Trevor grabbed his jacket and a scarf and kicked the front door open. The cold blast of air made Franklin grit his teeth.

"Uh, T," he said carefully, "Is it really the best fuckin' night to sit on a hill? It's minus zero degrees outside."

"I'm from Canada," Trevor scoffed, as if that explained it all. "I'm used to it. _You_ pussies will just have to toughen up."

Franklin glanced at Michael, who gave him a defeated kind of smile, and followed Trevor out the door. 

 

* * *

 

 

And that is how Franklin found himself sitting on a snowy hilltop overlooking the Bullworth carnival, his fingers numb around a beer bottle as snow fluttered down soft and insistent from the black night sky. Below, the neon lights of the carnival flickered and flashed, casting colorful shadows across Michael and Trevor's faces. They sat either side of him. They'd been here for hours now, and Franklin had almost learned to ignore the cold. Although, he couldn't feel his ass anymore. It was after the dorm curfew, and Lamar would probably be wondering where he was, but he was weirdly enjoying himself too much to get up. And Michael, who informed him about his many nights spent with Trevor after curfew, said that sneaking back in was easier than anything. 

"I saw you walking back into school earlier," Michael said, his voice louder and more carefree after five beers. "You and Tess."

"Ah!" Trevor nodded all-knowingly. "Your girlfriend."

"For the last time, she's not my girlfriend," Franklin snapped at Trevor.

"Jesus, homie, why so defensive? I saw you wrapped around her at the dance."

"Because we were dancing. Because it was a dance." Franklin noticed the awkward rush to his words, and it only made him more irritated. "Quit sayin' she's my girlfriend."

"I will when it stops being true."

Michael nudged him, smile soft. "He's just messing with you, kid. But, you know, you could do a lot worse. I like Tess. She's a cool girl."

Trevor snorted over the rim of his beer. "Why don't you date her then, too? Make this a three-way."

Michael sighed. "Shut up, T." 

"Speaking of earlier," said Franklin, eager to change the subject, "You'll never guess what I saw in Old Bullworth Vale today."

"A hobo passed out in a dumpster?" Michael teased.

"Crazy Muriel blowing dudes for big macs?" Trevor added.

Franklin shook his head, making a mental note to avoid whoever Crazy Muriel was. "Naw, man. I saw that chick Ashley Butler makin' out with that Greaser."

"Klebitz?" Michael said. "That ain't nothin' new."

"No, dog. The other one. The Italian guy. Rocco."

" _Rocco?"_  Michael's eyes grew wide. "Rocco was kissing her? Fuck, Frank. I hope Johnny doesn't find out."

Franklin couldn't tell him that Johnny definitely  _would_ find out, because that would involve telling him why he was there in the first place, and that would consequently end up sending Trevor into some kind of rage. It was hard to balance it all - Franklin's grunt work for the Preppies and Greasers had to be kept secret, and so had Amanda's pregnancy. It was going to be tough being around Trevor for the next while. 

Michael drained the last of his beer and tossed the empty bottle into the box, where it landed with a clag. "I'm gonna take a piss," he said, standing up and brushing snow off his jeans. He nodded at the carnival. "Be back in a few."

Franklin and Trevor both watched him stumble down the hill towards the carnival's Port-A-Potty, and for a moment it was comfortable silence until Trevor said, "Fuck, I love that turd."

Franklin smiled. "Yeah?"

"Listen, I'm not going to give you a sob story or anything, but that asshole?" He gestured vaguely in Michael's direction. "Saved me. I didn't have much before him. Fuck, I still don't have much now, but it's better. It's better with him."

Franklin's stomach sank. He almost wished Michael hadn't of told him about Amanda, because listening to this was borderline painful. "You only known him a year, though, dog." He said gently, as if it would soften the blow of their inevitable break-up when the time came.

"No, I've known him my whole life," Trevor stated matter-of-factly. "I mean it. It  _feels_ like I've known him all my life. It's... easy. He makes me feel fuckin' complete, kid. And I know it's all going to be okay."

Franklin looked at him. "What do you mean?"

"I never told you about this," Trevor said, "so listen up. When I got kicked out of Bullworth, I thought I'd try my hand at flight school. There's one just a state over, and I was good. Real good. I found my calling, you know?"

"For real, homie? You're into flyin'? That's cool, man."

Trevor shrugged, and looked at the ground. "Since I was a kid, yeah. I was obsessed. I mean, fuck, to be all that way up in the sky? Nobody to tell you what to do, just livin' by your own rules, sitting back and taking charge? What's not to fucking love?" He sniffed. "But they grounded me." His hand tightened around the bottle neck. "They fucking grounded me! Some bitch in charge of psychological evaluations said I was too 'unstable'." Trevor snarled. "Fuck, can you believe that?"

Franklin actually could, but he wasn't ever going to say it. Instead, he pretended to look astonished by the idea that anyone could think Trevor Philips was unstable, and replied, "Seriously? That sucks, T."

"Yeah. It sucked. I came back here, I was a fuckin' mess. My big dream, shitted on!" He sighed heavily. "I came back here, told Michael what happened, and he was good to me. Said that I should try again, only he'd help me with the evaluation part, tell me what to say to sound normal like everybody else.  _Stable_."

"So is that what you're gonna do, dog?"

"When Michael graduates, yeah." Trevor took a swig of his beer, and suddenly his eyes were bright and excited. Hopeful. "He's gonna come with me, and we're gonna go to some state faraway where nobody knows us. I'll get my licence, and you know, hopefully someday, maybe drop the nuke on some bastard dictatorship. And M's gonna play football, and we're gonna have a real fuckin' house, not a trailer, and maybe a dog too. I fuckin' love dogs."

Franklin couldn't comprehend the sadness welling up inside him. His heart was broken for Trevor. He'd had a tough life, that much was obvious, and here he sat with all these big plans. And he had no idea that none of them were ever going to come true. 

Franklin pushed the thoughts back, and forced a smile. "That sounds... real nice, dog."

Trevor beamed. "Yeah. And you're gonna come and visit us, obviously. Probably when you've graduated and married Raghead, and adopted Lamar as your special little brainchild."

Franklin arched an eyebrow, but said nothing. He just felt his stomach sink further into his gut. 

Michael's shape materialized again, his slouching figure coming up the hill. Trevor nudged Franklin and grinned. "It's gonna be good from now on, right? Me and him, away from this place."

Michael smiled at them breezily when he sat back down, reaching for another beer. "Just a heads-up," he said, "never use a carnival Port-A-Potty. My God."

Franklin laughed, grateful that he was back so Trevor would stop talking about his big plans and making Franklin feel like a giant asshole. Trevor did drop the subject, but he also reached behind Franklin to take Michael's hand in his. Michael held it comfortably, and when Franklin glanced down, he observed the pad of Michael's thumb rubbing gently into the calloused skin of Trevor's hand. 

Franklin moved his eyes to the shimmering lights of the carnival and paused. The world could be a cruel place, and Bullworth Academy was a giant dump, but sitting up here with Michael and Trevor made him feel oddly content, and all his problems seemed far away. In the morning, he'd deal with the blow out that would come from Johnny seeing the pictures, but as for now he was happy sitting up here with Michael and Trevor, two radically different kinds of friends.

Franklin looked at them both and hoped that, however bad the fallout from Amanda's bombshell, they would still find a way to be happy. Even if it that wasn't together. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The flawless Tess/Franklin art you saw above was done by the utterly incredible and supremely talented pyscho-hipster. Send her love!
> 
> I don't know when I decided to make Dom and Franklin BFFS, but wow it's happening. YAY DOM!
> 
> Sorry for the delay - but rejoice, my exams are FINISHED (thank you again for the best wishes!) and I'm now on vacation. And better yet, our apartment does indeed have internet, which means lots of writing and hopefully faster updates! :) 
> 
> Thank you for continuing to read and comment. Your feedback means the world, seriously. You are all fantastic and I'm so glad that you're all enjoying this. :D 
> 
> Let me know what you think about this one, I'd really appreciate it. Hope you're all having a wonderful summer!


	17. Burning Down The House

 

The next few days passed slowly, as drab and as cold as the winter weather. Every time Franklin tried to find Johnny to show him the pictures, the Greaser was never around. Or, if he was, he was with Rocco, and that was just asking for trouble. Franklin needed to get Johnny alone, but that was easier said than done. The guy always travelled with five or six oily-haired henchmen at a time, all of whom were incredibly drugged-up, aggressive as fuck, and on top of that, very suspicious of Franklin. All he could do was wait, and hope that Rocco didn't find out about the pictures before Johnny did.

As Christmas break fast approached, the students and teachers of Bullworth Academy were starting to get ready. Kids in the dorm were already packing their bags up to go home, and at the weekends, the town was overflowing with students going store-to-store, searching bargain bins for something to give their parents, siblings, friends. The art department had once again swept through the school like some kind of glittery, festive-cheer hurricane and had decorated everything within in an inch of its life - draping the walls of the boys dorm in snowflakes, glowing snowmen and twinkling fairy lights, as well as erecting a small but decent Christmas tree in the corner of the living room. The thing looked like it had been swiped off the back of a truck; the branches were threadbare and sagged miserably to the floor with the weight of the busted, second-hand baubles, but weirdly, it seemed to fit into the surroundings as easily as a jigsaw piece. It had been a while since Franklin had been in a place with this much emphasis on celebrating Christmas, and he was surprised to discover he didn't mind it. 

While Christmas cheer had grabbed the rest of the students and was holding them tight, the same festive joy had apparently glossed completely over Lamar. All week, Lamar was going apeshit over various extra-credit assignments, essays, extra reading that teachers like Ms. Madrazo were giving him to help bump his grade up even higher. He'd be absent from the dorm and from the observatory all day, attending numerous study groups and spending the darkening winter evenings shut up in the library. Franklin knew that this scholarship meant a lot to him, but he couldn't wrap his head around the fact someone as naturally intelligent as Lamar had to do all of this stuff to ensure a high GPA. He was seeing less and less of his roommate as the days passed. The only reminder that Lamar even shared a room with him came each night at around midnight, when Lamar would stagger through the door while Franklin was dozing off, struggling with a mountain of books and notes. Franklin always rolled over, always shoved his head underneath the pillow, and always found Lamar face-down in a chapter of some textbook the next morning.

So, when Lamar came back to the room at eight thirty one night, Franklin literally did a double take.

"Study group was cancelled," Lamar said as way of explanation, his face crabby and tired. "Too much snow to get into town."

Franklin, who was lounging on his bed engaged in a back-and-forth text messaging chat with Tess, glanced up at his roommate over the top of his phone and winced. "You look like you're gonna pass out, homie," he said. The shadows under Lamar's eyes didn't make it seem like Lamar had been avoiding sleep, but instead made him look as though he'd been punched in the face repeatedly. This new, heavy-lidded gaze he had adopted was also very unsettling. It made him look close to having some kind of cardiac event at any second. 

"M'fine, homie, don't worry about it." Lamar dropped all his books onto the floor by his bed with a heavy sigh, and then collapsed on top of the bed covers. He dug his face hard into the pillows and made a soft grunting noise. 

Franklin's phone pinged. Tess again. 

_R u kidding?? Newbie, the world NEEDS a Black Widow movie_

Franklin rubbed his thumb across the screen and smiled, just barely. He sent back a reply. 

_well, in that case, they should make a wonder woman movie, 2._

Lamar was staring at him. "What are you doing?"

"What?"

"You don't text."

"I text."

"Not me."

"You're always here," Franklin grabbed the nearest pillow and threw it at him. "Why the hell would I be texting you?" 

Lamar grunted again. Then, after a few minutes of quiet, "Hey Frank, I've been thinkin' of staying here for Christmas. I got, fuck, like so much work to do. I should stay here, right?"

Franklin frowned. "Dog, go  _home_. Nothin' is gonna happen to your grade if you go home to your family for fuckin' Christmas. Look at you, man, you're on edge. Take a break. Relax."

"But the scholarship--"

"You'll  _get_ the scholarship, dude! Quit worryin'," Franklin said. "You ain't gotta do it all of this extra work and shit, you got it in the bag, L. It's Christmas, for fuck's sake, go home and be with your mom and all the kids."

"Well, listen to you, Jolly Ol' Saint Franklin." Lamar rolled his tired eyes. "Fuck, fine. I'll go home. Mom would kill me anyway."

Franklin's phone pinged again. 

_Yes!!! So that's a Black Widow movie & a Wonder Woman movie - both awesome ideas. aren't U bored of superhero dudes? we need superhero ladies!_

Lamar used his leg to kick the comforter up over him. "She's literally opposite you," he said suddenly, sounding amused. "Get your ass up and go see her, if you want to talk to her."

"What? How did you--"

Lamar smirked. "That dumbass smile on your face," he said, "It's the same one you got when she's around."

"Shut up, man."

"I'm right," Lamar mumbled, rolling over to press his face into the pillow again. "You know I'm fuckin' right."

Franklin's face was burning. "Why don't you just go to sleep, dog?"

"Knock it  _off_ , man, for real. You and Little Red Riding Hood probably pickin' out china patterns for your countryside dream house."

Franklin arched his eyebrows. "Little Red Riding Hood?"

Lamar didn't answer him, just rolled over again and shut his eyes. Franklin's phone pinged again. 

_Have to go. That cheerleader Amanda is throwing up in my bathroom - I hate this place. Gnight Newbie_

Franklin set his phone down on the nightstand and stared up at the ceiling. Poor Amanda, he thought. It wouldn't be long before people started to find out. Showing or not showing, Amanda was living in a dorm of girls who knew what pregnant meant. On top of that, she was the head cheerleader. She'd have to sit out on practices from now on to take care of the new little life growing inside of her, and people would talk. Around here, talking was people's favourite thing to do. 

It was still too early to go to sleep, but Lamar was already out like a light. Franklin slid off the bed and went out into the hall. The lights were low and the living room was bustling with activity. A bunch of guys were gathered around the TV, which was showing one of those old, nostalgic Christmas movies that everybody remembers from their childhood. Michael was sitting with a group of his burly football buddies, all wearing their letterman jackets and loudly playing a game of poker. Franklin could talk to Michael, but didn't care much for the inevitable stare-down the other Jocks would give him if he wandered over. Instead, he decided to head outside for a breather, and, if he happened to feel like it once he was out there, he might take a stroll across the way to the girls dorm, and talk to Tess for real. He found that he always wanted to talk to Tess lately, sometimes about nothing, but still just wanting to see her and hear her voice.

The freezing air hit his bones when he stepped outside, and within a few seconds, his clothes had been dusted with snow. It was falling harder than it had ever done so far, and underneath his feet, the ground was really building up. Franklin cupped his hands and brought them up to his mouth, blowing hot breath over the numbing skin to warm them. He paused for a moment, and saw a strange figure loitering at the gate. 

Franklin's stomach turned to ice water. "Haines?" He called out, his voice sounding much louder in the cold silence. 

Steve was leaning against the gate with one shoulder, wrapped head-to-toe in expensive-looking winter clothes. He shoved his hands into his pockets and nodded at Franklin. Barely. 

Franklin felt his face tense as he took a few slow steps forward. "What are you doing over here, dog?"

Steve lifted the other shoulder in a shrug. "Just came by," he said. "Is it a crime to take walks now?"

Franklin didn't like it. Steve didn't come to this side of campus for the same reason Franklin avoided venturing to Harrington House. Franklin moved closer and saw that Steve's face had healed, and he looked almost back to normal, but his lip still boasted an ugly red wound. Johnny was really ferocious. Franklin couldn't tell if the black-and-blue shadows falling across Steve's face were old bruises, or just the night light making itself known.

"You should get out of here," Franklin said, unable to stop his fists from clenching at the sight of the Preppie. It had been weeks since he'd talked to him, and the fury Franklin had buried was beginning to climb back up his oesophagus. 

"You don't want one of the Greasers to find you here, dog."

Steve smirked. And then, it fell from his lips almost as suddenly as it had arrived, replaced by a cold, hard stare. "I know what you did," said Steve. "I know you tricked me."

"I don't know what you're talking about." Franklin crossed his arms and met the stare head-on. "But whatever happened to you, man? You deserved it."

"And you deserve what's coming to you."

Franklin scoffed. "Am I supposed to be scared? Give it up, dog, it's over. We're done. Just get on with your fuckin' life."

The door opened behind them and a few freshman came out, chatting loud and laughing. They spotted Steve and slowed, their laughter dying, eyes narrowing, and Franklin watched Steve take a step back. Freshman wouldn't touch a Preppie, but they would definitely tell a Senior. Steve looked annoyed after they had gone, and they both knew it was time he left.

Steve nodded at Franklin curtly. "This isn't over, pal," he warned. "It's not even close to being over. You've just started a war, buddy. And I intend on winning."

Franklin watched him go, an uneasy feeling swirling in the pit of his gut. Steve suddenly glanced over his shoulder and called out, "It's pretty cold out. Maybe try... warming up."

Franklin scowled. "What the fuck does that mean?" he yelled out, but Steve was already gone.

 

* * *

 

 

Franklin turned in early, and fell asleep quickly to the familiar sounds of the dorm's crashing, shouting and occasionally screaming residents. It was funny but, Franklin would miss those sounds over Christmas break. He knew that he'd struggle to sleep in an empty dorm. This place, even with its crazy students, was beginning to feel like home.

When Franklin woke up, he had a moment of disorientation as he wondered where he was. It was odd - usually the first thing he did when he awoke was to roll over and bang the top of the ringing alarm clock on his nightstand, but he couldn't hear it ringing. When he rubbed his eyes and turned his head, he realized it was completely silent. It took a few seconds for him to realize that it wasn't actually morning yet - the light was strange, too dark and too navy for morning. Franklin blinked hard, feeling like there was sand in his eye, and managed to read the time on the clock. 2.58AM.

He could hear some strange noises, which suddenly amplified once his mind adjusted to consciousness. 

Thumping footsteps in the hall, hysterical yelling, the crackling of flames. Banging. 

Franklin shot up in bed and threw the covers off him. He took one deep breath and regretted it - smoke poured into his lungs and made him choke. Tears came to his eyes as he spluttered. He grabbed his phone and stepped into his shoes, swooping down to scoop his sweatshirt off the ground. Lamar was still fast asleep.

Franklin ran to him, seized his friend's bony shoulders underneath the covers, and shook him hard.

" _Wake up_! Lamar! Get the fuck up!"

Lamar groaned. He tried to bat Franklin away but Franklin grabbed him by the wrist and pulled him to his feet. 

Lamar cursed. "Franklin, what the - it's the middle of the fuckin' night--"

"The dorm is on fire!"

Lamar froze. He didn't speak. His eyes widened to the size of saucers and only then did he notice he was breathing in choking, black smoke. Suddenly he came to life. He darted around the room, grabbing all of his books, throwing on clothes, tripping over piles of laundry in an effort to pack all his belongings into his backpack. Franklin grabbed him by the shoulders again and forced him to stand still.

"Leave your shit, dog, we gotta get out of here." 

Lamar nodded, but hoisted his backpack high onto his shoulder before he followed Franklin to the door.

Franklin threw open the door and gagged as smoke came billowing in. The hallway was utterly consumed by smoke, and Franklin could just about make out the darting figures running up and down the halls. Some were screaming. At the far end of the hallway, flames were licking the walls, the bright ember ready to swallow up everything in its path. Fear took over Franklin and rattled his bones. His heart burst into a rapid, terrified beat as he reached behind him and took hold of Lamar's sleeve.

"We just gotta make it to the door," he shouted over the screams. 

"I'm following you!"

Franklin remembered you were supposed to crawl underneath the smoke. He dropped to the floor and pulled Lamar with him. It was better, but he was still fighting for breath. The heat was unbearable, sweat breaking out on his forehead and burning into his skin, sizzling like butter on a frying pan. He crawled. It was so hard to see, and just opening his eyes produced a stinging pain. His eyes were streaming by the time they found the door. 

Someone threw it open from the other side. The edge of the door smacked Franklin hard against the temple and he cried out in pain. Someone grabbed his collar as he saw stars. He was pulled up, yanked hard, and suddenly, the air was clean.

He breathed it in. He'd never been as happy to inhale frosty, winter air. He spluttered and coughed again, desperate to clear his lungs. They felt bathed in gritty black soot. His head was also searing with pain. It was dark for a moment. Franklin struggled to open his eyes and was pulled up into a standing position. A strong arm came around his waist, and held him upright. He could hear Lamar calling his name, slapping both sides of his face. 

Franklin opened his eyes. Lamar was standing in front of him, groggy but evidently concerned. "Franklin? Can you hear me?"

"Y-Yeah, I can hear you. Fuck, somebody hit me with the damn door--"

"That'd be me," an apologetic voice sounded close to his ear. Franklin realized it was Michael, standing next to him, holding him up. "I didn't see you. Are you okay now, kid?"

"M'fine." Michael's arm left him and he managed to stand on his own.

Behind Lamar, the right side of the boys dorm was engulfed in flames. Boys were still pouring out of the doors and windows, flushed, sweaty and gasping for breath. Franklin saw Principal Weston standing with his phone to his ear, yelling down the other line for the fire department, wearing just a bathrobe and socks. 

"The dorm's on fire," Franklin said. It was stating the obvious, but he couldn't believe it. It looked so unreal. 

"At least everybody got out," said Michael, looking around them. The population of the boys dorm had formed a crowd, and stood shivering and coughing in pajamas and boxer shorts. Beverly was taking pictures. 

Lamar swung his bag off his shoulder and onto the ground. He started digging through it, inspecting the contents desperately. "Fuck," he hissed, "I think I left my Chemistry book in there--"

"You idiot," Franklin snapped. "You could have left your damn self in there, but you didn't. Count yourself lucky, dog."

The fire department arrived a few minutes later in a chaotic gleam of red lights and shrill sirens. They put the fire out easily, as everyone stood around to watch. After that, they handed out blankets to everybody as well as hot drinks. A few of the boys were treated for smoke inhalation, and Franklin was given an ice-pack for the growing bump on his head, but other than that, nobody was hurt. By the time the hysteria had been overcome, the fire fighters were starting to go back into the boys dorm to assess the damage. 

It hadn't burned down, but the right side of the building was scorched black, and the roof had all but caved in. The flowers and grass on that side were burnt up and dead. Smoke rose lazily into the sky, twisting in slow spirals. The air smelt of snow, charcoal and smoke. 

"It was those freakin' Christmas lights," Weston was shouting to no one in particular, pacing up and down outside the front of the dorm. "I knew there were too many. Oh, _jesus_ , they're gonna take this out of my salary--"

"Fucker," Michael hissed under his breath. "Someone could have died, and he's worried about his salary."

The three of them were sitting on the wall at the side of the dorm, blankets hugged around their shivering frames. Nobody was allowed to leave until Principal Weston decided where to send them. It was a lot of waiting around, hushed chatter, and theories on which string of fairy lights had started the blaze.

But Franklin thought differently. He couldn't shake the feeling that there was something suspicious about this. Just hours ago, he'd seen Steve Haines hanging around outside the gate. A place he had no reason to be in, at an odd time of night. And then, Steve had said that thing right before he left. 

" _It's cold out. Maybe try... warming up._ "

No. No way.

That was low even for Steve Haines. 

And yet. Franklin still couldn't get the thought out of his mind. Had Steve intentionally caused this fire, to get back at Franklin for what he did? If he did, that was a new low. Franklin turned and watched as a fireman came out of the dorm, waving his hand in front of his face to clear the smoke. Debris clung to his boots. 

"Whole right side is scorched, lotta damage," the fireman said to Principal Weston. "Yeah, you're lookin' at some hefty renovation."

Weston groaned. His head dropped into his palms with the weight of the world. "What started it?"

"Honestly?" The fireman leaned forward and lowered his voice, but his words still reached Franklin. "Seems you got some kind of amateur arsonist. Couple o' my guys found a half-empty gasoline tank tossed over the fence at the back there, and a couple matches."

An ugly chill prickled up Franklin's spine.

Weston had gone as white as the snow. "Are you telling me some snot-nosed shit did this on purpose?"

"Looks like it, sir. You can talk to the police if you want an invest--"

"No," Weston said quickly. He dropped his voice to a whisper, tugging awkwardly at the collar of his bathrobe. "Uh, listen, we used to have some trouble with a degenerate fire-starter a couple of years ago, and it'd be... well, very bad for the school if this got out. So let's just say the Christmas tree blew up or something, okay, pal?"

The fireman's eyes widened, but he nodded all the same. "If that's what you want, sir, alright. But, hey," He tapped Weston's shoulder and smiled as he moved away. "At least none of your kids got hurt!"

Weston looked like he couldn't care less. He seemed to be more upset about the state of the building. 

Michael and Lamar were engrossed in conversation. Slowly, Franklin shrugged off the blanket and crept over to Principal Weston, who was muttering underneath his breath.

"Uh, sir?"

He turned. "What? Oh, Clinton. What is it?" 

"Sir, I think I know what started the fire." 

"What? You do? What, kid?  _What?_ " 

Franklin took a breath. "Steve Haines."

Weston flushed from milk-white to ruby-red and then back again. "Excuse me?"

"He was hangin' around the gate earlier, and he said--"

"Mr. Clinton, that is a very  _serious accusation_ you've just made. And against one of our best and most diligent students!" Weston was looking at Franklin as though he were a disgusting cockroach. "As the, uh, fire department just told me, this fire was a complete accident. Um, Christmas tree. Nothing worth writing about in the Bullworth Bulletin, that's for sure." He paused for a moment, and then sighed. "Look, do you have any proof that Steve might have been involved?"

"No, but--"

"Find some, and maybe I'll listen. As for now, I gotta figure out what to do with all of you."

 

* * *

 

"The  _girls_ dorm?" The faces of each and every boys dormitory resident dropped at exactly the same time. And at once, the furious shouts rose up.

"Sir, we can't stay with the girls!”

"It’s too friggin' pink over there!"

"I'm not sleeping next to Tonya!" 

"You won't be sleeping next to  _anyone_ , Mr. Felton," Principal Weston snapped. He was already leading the crowd of tired boys across the diamond to the girls dormitory. The lights were all on, ready for the arrival. "You'll all be sleeping in the ladies' living room. You should be grateful you're not sleeping in the auto shop."

"But sir--"

"It's only until we restore your own dorm," said Weston. "And if I hear that any of you have been causing trouble over here or conducting your sordid little romances after hours, you'll be out on your asses, sleeping in the cold."

Inside, he girls dormitory was exactly like the boys dormitory, only significantly cleaner with a lot more pink. The girls had all been woken up and sat groggy and whispering in the spacious living room. Sleeping bags were piled up in one corner - tattered and old, they'd clearly seen better days. An atmosphere of awkward yet buzzy excitement fell over the room as the boys trooped in, some barely dressed. The whole place smelt of perfume. 

"Boys, grab a sleeping bag each," Weston said, clearing his throat. "As you've clearly seen, your dorm will be inaccessible until after the Christmas break, thanks to the art department's overzealous fairy lights." 

Franklin grabbed a sleeping bag from the top of the pile and stood off to the side, clutching it awkwardly. It smelt mouldy and dank. 

"Lucky for you," Weston went on, with forced cheerfulness, "none of your personal crap seems to have been damaged. The roof and right hallway were burnt to all hell, but no rooms. The fire department will take out all of your stuff and bring it over here." He checked his watch and grunted. "It's very late, gentlemen. Settle down and shut up. There will be an assembly about this in the morning."

The minute he left, the room burst into explosive chatter about the fire. Disbelieved glances and whispers flew back and forth as some started bragging about nearly not making it out alive, as the girls listened with fervent attention. Franklin abandoned what was probably the Weirdest Sleepover Of All Time to find Lamar in the corner, already settling down in his sleeping bag, his face a mixture of exhaustion and worry.

"We could have stayed in Harrington House," Lamar complained. "They got tons of space. We wouldn't have to sleep on the damn floor."

"I don't think you'd want to stay there," Franklin replied. "Listen, dog, I think I know who started the fire."

Lamar blinked at him. "Huh? Did you say 'who'? Nobody started it. You heard Weston, it was the Christmas decorations."

"No. It was Steve Haines."

" _What_?" Lamar hissed. His whole body had gone rigid. "That's crazy, Frank. No way. Like Steve Haines would ever do anything like that. He's a janky, dog-ass motherfucker, but he'd never set the fuckin' dorm on fire."

"But I think he did, dog! I went outside earlier, and he was just hangin' around, acting real shady. And then he said that we should warm up."

"Warm up? What the fuck are you talking about?"

"The way he said it, L. It was real... threatening. I'm tellin' you, homie, he did this."

Lamar opened his mouth to answer, but was interrupted by a fiery-haired girl suddenly yanking him into a bone-crushing hug. 

Lamar wheezed. "Jesus, girl! You'r gonna break my ribs!"

"Are you all right?" Tess was flushed and tired looking. After hugging Lamar, her arms came strong around Franklin and squeezed him tight. Her hair smelt of oranges and she was soft and warm. His chest felt tight when she pulled away. 

"We're fine," he said. "It didn't get into any of the rooms. This bitch saved all of his books." He jabbed a finger in Lamar's direction.

"Nice to know where your priorities lie," Tess said. "I'm sorry for jumping on you, but I guess I was worried. This is serious, you know? You guys could have died!" She sported a long, cotton gray nightshirt that fell to just above her knees. Franklin felt hot. 

Ms. Madrazo appeared in the doorway, wearing rollers and a silk pink pajama set. She clapped her hands and called out, "Ladies, bed. Gentlemen, floor."

Tess reluctantly got to her feet and waved as she left the room with the rest of the girls dorm, heading down the hall and up the stairs. The boys slid into their sleeping bags, and Ms. Madrazo turned off the lights.

Lamar was breathing softly, and staring at the ceiling. "Do you really think Steve did this?"

"Why not? He had the motive."

"But no evidence. How are you gonna prove Steve set the place up, homie? You can't. Just be happy it wasn't you that went up in flames," Lamar whispered. "Anyway, there's no way he did it, dog, I'm sorry. As bad as he is, he'd never try burn down the dorm."

Franklin fixed his eyes on the darkened ceiling and stared at it hard, until the whispers in the room were replaced by soft snores and breaths, and until his eyes grew so heavy he couldn't keep them open any longer. After a few minutes, the world fell away, and he tumbled into dreams of crackling firelight and overwhelming, stingy heat. 

 

* * *

 

 

There was an assembly the next morning. Principal Weston showed up in jogging shorts and a rumpled windbreaker, and talked for about ten minutes on the rules that now stood while the boys were rooming with the girls. He looked tired and pasty and the minute the assembly ended, he looked close to falling asleep. That was why Franklin was so baffled when Weston caught him by the arm as he was going out the gym door, and pulled him over to the side to speak to him.

Weston's eyes were dull and distant, as if it was a chore to keep them open. "How was your night on the floor, slick?" he asked.

"Awful, sir." Franklin had woken up with a sharp back pain and a crick in his neck. He never thought he'd miss the smelly confines of the boys dorm until now.

The gym was nearly empty. Weston waited for the last person to leave before he dropped his voice to a whisper and leaned forward. "I took what you said into account," he murmured, "because goddamnit it, it wasn't the fairy lights and if we have some kind of sick, twisted arsonist on our hands I want to weed out that piece of crap and put him out on his ass. So," he sighed, as if the whole topic of the conversation bothered him. "I paid a little visit to Harrington House."

Franklin's eyebrows arched. "And?"

" _And_ Steven Haines was nowhere to be found."

"What?"

"He didn't do it, pal. Haines's father sent a car to pick him up last night about ten o'clock, some relative was having a Christmas party he had to go to. He wasn't on campus when the fire started, he wasn't even in the _state_. He didn't do it."

Franklin's face fell. "But--"

"Give it up, kid. I'll get to the bottom of this." Weston's eyes flashed menacingly. "And when I find the snotty little shit who did this to my dormitory, I'll kick his ass from here to New York." He seemed to remember Franklin was standing there, and swallowed. "Uh, but you know, kick his ass mentally because that's illegal and as the fine, upstanding principal of this school I would never lay a hand on a student."

"Right, sir." Franklin said, dejected. "I should go."

"Stay out of trouble, pal. Namaste!"

Lamar and Tess were waiting for him outside. 

"Well?" asked Lamar. "What was all that about?"

"Steve didn't do it," Franklin said despondently. "He went out of state last night with his old man. Jesus, I really thought he did it."

"Wait, you thought _Steve_ set the place on fire?" Tess actually laughed. "Newbie, have you met him? He's all bark, no balls. He'd never do that."

Franklin shook his head. "But it had to be him. It had to be."

Lamar put a hand on his shoulder. "Let it go, dog," he said gently. "We're gonna go get breakfast. Coming?"

"I'll catch up with you."

"Alright, homie."

Franklin pushed his hands into his pockets and took a few slow steps. It didn't make any sense. Steve had been waiting to get back at Franklin, and he'd been hanging around outside the dorm last night, by himself. And the way he had carried himself and the way he'd spoken to Franklin - that dangerous, underlying threat to his eyes and to his voice. Franklin kicked a pebble in front of him and watched it skid haphazardly across the black top. He didn't like any of this. If Steve had indeed used that gasoline and set the place on fire, then he was capable of much more than Franklin thought.

Had he underestimated Steve?

Franklin's stomach rumbled; the thought of breakfast became all the more appealing. He made his way towards the school building, but came to a halt when he observed one of the Greasers sitting on a bench, rolling a cigarette. 

It was Rocco. He was the only Greaser in the area, Franklin saw. He didn't know what possessed him, but before he could think, Franklin's legs were carrying him over to the bench and he was standing in front of Rocco, his stomach in knots, his brain screaming at him that this was a bad idea. 

"Well, if it ain't Pippy Short Stocking," Rocco snorted. "What the fuck do you want? Johnny ain't around."

"I know," Franklin said. His mouth had gone dry. "I want to talk to you."

Rocco stopped, looked up, and raised one eyebrow. "'Scuse me?"

"I need your help."

"Are you kidding? I don't even know you, shortstop. Get the fuck out of here."

"You and Ashley," Franklin blurted. Rocco's head shot up. "I know that you been fuckin' around with Ashley behind Johnny's back, dog, and if you don't help me out, I'm gonna tell him."

Rocco stood up slowly. He raised himself to his full height, his eyes burning with rage. Franklin stiffened, but did not move. When Rocco spoke, his voice dripped with rage. "You - what? He - how the fuck-"

"I need protection." 

Rocco was seething. "First off, how the fuck did you find out about Ashley, and second, what the fuck? Protection? I'll beat your ass from here to next week, you--"

"I pissed somebody off," Franklin interrupted. "And I gotta make sure that they don't hurt my friends or me again. I need you to help me out."

"What - who?"

"Steve Haines."

Rocco went still. "The Preppie? You want me to what, beat him up?"

"Nothin' like that, dog," said Franklin. "I just need you on our side. You could be real helpful. I know about the beef between the Greasers and the Preppies, and it could help you out just as much as me." He took a breath. "Johnny thinks you cheatin' on his girl, which you obviously are. And I know that Johnny is your boy, he listens to you. Truth is, dog, I wanna get back at Steve Haines and I need people to do it."

"You want us?"

"Your clique is the kind I want on my side. I can help you get back at Steve Haines, get back at the Preppies, get yourselves respected in this fuckin' school. And if you don't help me," Franklin narrowed his eyes. "I'll tell Johnny all about you and that Ashley chick."

" _Nobody_ tells me what to do," Rocco snapped. "But, I hear what you're sayin', and I don't want Johnny comin' down on me. Plus, it's about time we crushed that Haines prick into the dirt. What do you need, kid?"

"I need to break into Harrington House."

" _What?_ "

"I think Steve was the cat who burned down our dorm, dog, don't you want to get him back?"

"By  _burning down Harrington House_?" Franklin couldn't tell if Rocco was horrified or impressed. "Kid, that's--"

"I don't want to burn it down! Listen, dog, all the Preppies are going home for Christmas, right? Well, what if the Greasers moved into Harrington House over the break and made themselves at home?"

Rocco was quiet. And then, he smiled. "I gotcha," he said. "Oh fuck, I gotcha, kid." He laughed. "You know trust-fund rats got a jacuzzi? I _like_ jacuzzi's. And their TVs, their big expensive bedrooms... damn, we're gonna have parties!" He grinned at Franklin. "So all you want us to do is thrash Harrington House over Christmas? Shit, can do, kid." He grabbed Franklin's collar. "And you're not gonna open your mouth about Ashley, right?"

"For sure, homie. I'll tell Johnny I saw nothin'."

Franklin went to the cafeteria and found Lamar and Tess. When he sat down, they smiled at him, and passed him a tray that they had gotten for him.

"What's happenin', F?" Lamar asked him cheerily. "Where were you?"

"Oh, I just went for a walk," Franklin said. The less they knew, the better.  

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Franklin is going dark side. O_O
> 
> A thousand thank yous' for continuing to read and comment, it really means the world to me. <3 If I could smother you all in hugs and chocolate chip pancakes, I would. :D I hope that you enjoyed this one!


	18. A Very Bullworth Christmas: Part One

 

In the midst of the chaotic aftermath of the boys dorm fire, Christmas break snuck up on the students of Bullworth Academy over the next few weeks, and was welcomed in on December 20th as a friend you really missed. Franklin sat in his new home - a sleeping bag in the corner of the girls dormitory living room - and watched as, one by one, the boys and girls all heaved their bulky suitcases down the front steps, pushed them into the spacious trunks of waiting cars, and embraced relatives at the passenger side. Snow fell soft and constant, tiny flakes of ice that seemed to stick to the lungs and chill them once inhaled. The morning was a blur of chatter and hugs, and across the diamond, the flame-kissed right-side of the boys dorm looked even blacker and more charred, standing out against all of that white. 

Franklin threw on warm clothes and rolled up his sleeping bag. The girls dorm was now significantly quieter, as was the whole campus. The new silence would take some getting used to, as would the empty bedrooms, empty classrooms, the silent school bell. Franklin had been planning on spending the two-week break alone in the boys dorm, but the girls dorm was a whole other story. Standing in the foyer amongst all that pink made him feel... awkward. The place had the same layout as the boys dorm, but it still seemed so alien. He couldn't imagine sleeping here by himself, with nothing but the harsh wind outside and the odd bang or hiss of a pipe from somewhere upstairs, which would inevitably startle him from his sleep and force him to acknowledge that, this year, he was spending Christmas completely alone.

He wasn't thinking about December 25th. He doubted the diner would serve turkey. He doubted the diner would even be open. He'd probably go into town, see all the families sitting together around their dining tables with the warm, soft light of a crackling fireplace, presents at their feet, a big tree standing tall and proud by the window. 

Franklin pushed the unwanted, miserable thought out of his mind and decided to go outside, to watch his classmates bid goodbye to Bullworth for the next two weeks, to see the incredible excitement on their faces as they pictured their own homes, own beds, their own towns and communities. As he headed out the door, he reached down and grabbed two shoebox-sized parcels, and stuffed them under his right armpit.

The first thing he saw when he trooped down the icy steps was Amanda, wrapped in a heavy parka with a scarf perfectly arranged around her neck, her arms around Michael's neck and clinging on for dear life, her face buried into his shoulder. Her hair fell across her face, hiding it. Franklin had a feeling she was upset, guessing by the pained expression on Michael's face. Behind them at the gates, a beat-up old Fiat was waiting for them. A very tall and imposing man was leaning against the hood. Gaunt in the cheeks and scowling, Franklin presumed it was Amanda's father. He shuddered as he imagined trying to tell a guy like that that you had gotten his daughter pregnant. Franklin took a step back without realizing.

Michael whispered something and they broke apart, sharing one long, final kiss before Amanda sniffed and dragged her feet over to her dad, who gave her an awkward one-armed hug before throwing her bags into the backseat. He cast a sour look over at Michael, but didn't say anything. The car started up and left. 

Franklin went over to Michael and put a hand on his shoulder. "Hey, dog."

Michael didn't turn his head, just kept staring at the gate like he expected the car to come back. "Hey kid." 

"Are you all right?"

"No," Michael replied. "Amanda's gonna tell her folks about.. about the baby, our baby, on the 26th."

"Get through Christmas first, huh?"

"Yeah."

"You aren't gonna go back with her? Maybe you should be there when she tells her old man, M."

Michael shook his head. Slow. "She said her dad would definitely turn me inside out if I were there. He's never liked me much." 

"Well, have a good Christmas man," said Franklin. "I'll see you in a couple weeks."

"You aren't going back to your folks, kid?"

"My mom died a few years back and I don't have a dad, so..."

Michael looked over at him then, and was quiet for a bit before he nodded. "I'm sorry to hear that, but I guess I got somebody to keep me company in that dorm now."

Franklin frowned. "Huh?"

"I told my parents a few days ago," Michael started, his face growing pale. "I told 'em about Amanda and they... pretty much suggested that I don't come home this year."

"Shit, homie, that's rough." Franklin felt like he should squeeze his shoulder or arm again or at least do something, but Michael didn't seem like the kind of guy that liked getting people's pity. "Maybe they'll come around," he suggested. 

"I doubt it. It was pretty bad. Pretty sure the whole school heard my dad screaming down the phone at me."

"What did they say?"

"My mom just said that she'd wait until Amanda tells her parents, and then they're gonna call Weston and make sure that Amanda can stay and graduate," Michael answered. 

"And your dad?"

"He..." Michael's voice trailed away, and when he spoke again his voice had become as hollow as the snow. "He said all the things you'd expect. Words like 'disappointment' and 'ashamed' and all of that shit. Then he said he wasn't going to drive through two states to get me today, because I had ruined Christmas for everybody. Finally, he told me that if I don't get this college football scholarship, I better not ever come home."

Franklin was astonished. And angry. "Excuse me, man, but fuck that asshole."

"Yeah, well. He said his piece, and I guess it's over now. Mom will try to talk him around but no dice. He's a drunken hard-ass, Franklin, the only thing he cares about is football and knocking back a few cold ones at the bar. He's never changed before, why would he do it now?"

Car doors slammed as the students climbed in, drove off, and more cars came to replace the old ones. It was awful what happened to Michael, and his father sounded like a piece of shit, but Franklin couldn't help but feel relieved that Michael would also be staying in the dorm for Christmas. At least now, the silence wouldn't be so depressing. Franklin reached up and ruffled snowflakes out of his hair, and nodded when Michael said he had to go and say goodbye to his football buddies. Franklin pushed his hands into his pockets to warm them, and was standing with his eyes fixed on the steel-wool sky when Tess jogged over to him, wheeling a bright orange suitcase and holding a plastic bag in her other hand.

"Newbie," she said, "my mom's here, so I'm gonna leave this shithole behind. Try not to piss off any more dangerous people while I'm gone, okay?"

"I'll try, but I won't make no promises." Franklin grinned but it faded quickly. He didn't want Tess to go home. He was going to miss her, everything about her, all the things that he had become familiar with.Tiny things like the way her hair always looked at breakfast, bed-mussed and curly, or the tiny dimple on the right side of her mouth that Franklin had tried very hard not to notice, but once he did, hadn't been able to forget. These are the kinds of things he never thought he would miss about a person. He realized he was staring into space and jolted back to reality. He realized that Tess was holding a Christmas paper-wrapped box out to him.

"You got me something? Shit, thanks, Tess." He took it from her. It was light, but he could hear a few things sliding around inside. Tess's cheeks were flushed red from the cold. He couldn't trick himself into thinking her cheeks were red because of him, but the flush did seem to intensify when he passed her one of the boxes he'd carried out of the dorm

"Whoa, this is heavy! What did you get me, Newbie, rocks?"

"Ha-ha. No, but I hope you like it."

"I hope you like yours. Thank you." There was a weird silence then, the kind that rolls your stomach around and messes with your head. Tess glanced down at her gloved hands and swallowed. "So... I guess I'll be going then." 

Franklin held out his arms and she stepped into them with a smile. She was soft and warm, and her hair smelt like apples. He held her close, and as the seconds ticked by, they well-passed the proper break-apart time for two friends. Franklin's arms slid tighter around her waist and Tess didn't move away. He could feel her fingertips digging into his shoulders. Her breath was warm where it hit the nape of his neck and he barely repressed a shiver when they finally pulled apart. 

The smile she gave him stayed with him, long after she had started to move away. "Merry Christmas, Franklin."

"Merry Christmas." He watched her hips sway as she went, wondering when the hell he had begun to notice that Tess had hips like that. She was beautiful, and Franklin was beginning to come apart. 

He felt strange after she'd gone, a bit cold and kind of alone. Some of the departing students waved to him as they moved towards the gates, people he barely knew but had become accustomed to seeing around campus. Something in Franklin had changed, he realized, something involving his attitude about Bullworth Academy. This place was all awful, but it was now as familiar to him as the back of his own hand, and crazily, it was beginning to feel like Franklin had a place here. It felt like he had been coming here since the beginning, and that the part of his life that was chaotic and messed-up was so far away from him here that it may as well had never happened. With Michael here to keep him company, and an empty campus to take advantage of, maybe it wouldn't be so bad after all. Maybe, just maybe, Franklin was beginning to feel at home.

"Frank!" He turned at the sound of Lamar's voice. His roommate was stumbling towards him, staggering underneath the weight of a  _lot_ of bags, while simultaneously trying to pull three large suitcases.

"Lamar, man! What the fuck? Are you goin' home for two weeks or two years?" Franklin hurried to help relieve him of some of the luggage. "You got a dead body in one of these bags?"

"Books," Lamar was wheezing. He sported an oversized black parka and a black  _Bullhorns_ snapback. "I gotta work hard over Christmas, Frank. This scholarship--"

"Fuck, dog, not this again." Franklin rolled his eyes. "Listen to me," he said seriously. " _Enjoy_ your fuckin' Christmas, sit down for a couple days and put your feet up. You're gonna get the scholarship, you asshole. I'm sure your mom doesn't want you holed up in your room surrounded by a mountain of books like The fuckin' Gremlin."

"I think you mean Grinch, homie."

"Man, whatever."

"Yeah, you're right. Well, Merry Christmas then, you salty-ass bitch." 

Franklin laughed, thinking that was a phrase perfect for a Christmas card. "Merry Christmas, homie, have a good one. And hey, I got you this." He passed him the last parcel. 

"Aw, you're about to make me cry Frank," Lamar teased, "I knew you cared, underneath all that grouchy shit." Lamar reached behind him and swung his backpack off his shoulders. As he reached down to unzip it, he asked, "Did you get anything from Tess?"

"Yeah, you?"

"Uh-huh, she found me comin' out of the dorm. I got her somethin' cool, man, hope I don't steal her away from you."

"Shut up, asshole."

" _And_ he goes right back to grouchy motherfucker." Lamar grinned and stood up. He gave Franklin a similar package. "Now, give me a hug before I go, motherfucker. Your lonely-ass is gonna miss me."

"Real fuckin' doubtful," Franklin smiled, and reached forward to hug Lamar. "Say hi to your mom and all the kids for me, homie."

"Yup. I'll catch you later, man. Bye."

There was nobody left to say goodbye to, so Franklin went back inside, settled onto the girls dormitory couch and put his snow-caked shoes up on the coffee table.

He noticed the quiet, the stillness, but he didn't feel as lonely as he thought he would.

 

 

* * *

 

 

It finally stopped snowing that night. The campus became dark quickly, so still you could hear a pin drop from the football field to the front gates. Franklin was sitting in the living room of the girls dorm, staring at but not watching some kids Christmas movie, when the front door opened and Michael came in, wiping his shoes across the rug. 

"I'm gonna head over to Trevor's," he announced, "do you want to join me?"

Franklin raised his eyebrows, feeling awkward. "Uh... no offence, dog, but if you two are gonna be over there all up in each other I don't think I want--"

Michael flushed. "No, he's having some kind of party. Jesus, kid."

"Oh. Oh. Fuck, sure, dog. Sounds like a good time."

Franklin found his coat and slipped into it. He braced himself against the soft yet still freezing breeze as they headed down the steps, inhaling refrigerated air and feeling it burn cold in his lungs. Above their heads, the sky was alive with stars. 

"It's not going to be that great," Michael said once they had gone out of the gates. "I mean, it's just him and his creepy friends."

"Still, better than sitting around."

"I guess." Michael shrugged. "Trevor takes Christmas really seriously."

"For real?"

"Don't ask me why. From what he's told me, his childhood Christmases were never exactly... well, you know. But he likes all this festive shit for some reason." 

"Did you, like... get him anything?"

Michael shook his head. "I've been kind of distracted."

"Of course, man."

"But if I don't find something, he'll skin me. Hey, if you want to head into town with me tomorrow and find something for him, I'd really appreciate it, kid."

"Sure."

"I got Amanda perfume, and these earrings that were cheaper than they look, thank God, and..." Michael swallowed. "It's early, but I got her all of these yellow baby clothes. And I'm gonna get my mom to send her this rattle I had when I was a kid."

"That's great, Michael. You're gonna be a good father, man."

Michael was staring at the ground, but Franklin caught the smallest hint of a smile. 

"I... haven't really been able to think about it before now," Michael said softly, "but now I am, and... fuck, everything happens for a reason, right? It's gonna be really fucking hard, and we'll have no money and I'll probably have to get like, six jobs, but it'll be worth it. It'll be okay."

Franklin nodded. They reached the cemetery and picked their way through the snowy headstones, until the trailer came into view at the top of the hill, and Franklin began to hear obnoxiously loud Christmas music coming from inside. Trevor had also draped the trailer in red Christmas lights, hung a mangy wreath on the door, and constructed two snowmen in the front yard. The smaller of the two wore an oversized letterman jacket and was holding the twig-hand of the taller snowman. 

Michael cleared his throat. "That, uh, that's supposed to be us."

"Man, you weren't kiddin' about the Christmas thing."

"No I was not."

Michael didn't bother to knock. Franklin followed him inside and was swallowed up by the music, a very festive tune with a lot of bells and percussion going on. The trailer was packed with people, which made moving around considerably difficult. A twitchy young man stood uncomfortable and grim in the corner, tightly clutching his beer as his eyes darted frantically around the room, performing some kind of mental scan on all the party guests. Beside him, another guy with dreadlocks and a face full of piercings was sucking on a candy cane and trying, unsuccessfully, to get a girl under the mistletoe. Trevor came out of the bedroom, stumbling slightly, a red Santa hat perched on his head, wearing a gaudy Christmas vest that proudly introduced hi as 'Santa's Baby'.

"Look who decided to show up!" He grabbed Franklin in a spine-crushing embrace and jumped on Michael, pressing several wet kisses to the Jock's neck. "Merry Christmas, my friends!"

"Hi there, T." Michael patted his back and gently removed Trevor's arms from around his neck. "Seems like you had some of that spiked eggnog."

"And I suggest _you_ have some too, sugar," Trevor whispered, obviously doing his best to sound flirty but slurring most of the words. "I'm so glad you're staying here this year, Mikey. This might be the best Christmas ever!" He turned to Franklin. "Ah, my scrappy little protégé! Can I interest you in a beer or seven?"

"Uh, just one for now, dog. Thank you."

Trevor staggered off towards the back of the trailer, leaving Franklin with Michael. Franklin glanced over at him and raised one eyebrow. "Didn't know Trevor had this many friends."

"He doesn't. There's a couple guys from that gang of misery and destruction that he leads, but all of these other people are just here for the free booze, I guess." Michael lifted a hand and waved at the twitchy guy and his dreadlocked friend. "Ron, Wade, how are things?" he called.

Ron narrowed his eyes and didn't answer. Wade, on the other hand, waved back excitedly and exclaimed, "Hey Michael! Nice to see ya!"

"Most of 'em are okay," Michael said to Franklin, "Ron, he doesn't like me, and his head is all messed up, but other than him everyone's fine."

Trevor came back and pushed two beers into their hands. He threw an arm around Michael and leaned in close, whispered things Franklin couldn't hear. Deciding it was best to leave them to it, Franklin moved away to take a seat on the couch, which was mostly taken up by a very corpulent woman in a greasy tank top. One of her portly, pale arms sporting a tattoo, and her short black hair was cut in a pageboy style and swept back. She looked a few years older than Trevor. 

"Hello honey," she said in a monotone, "I saw you come in with Trevor's boyfriend. You must be the little rascal Trevor's told us so much about."

Franklin was momentarily worried about what Trevor had told her and what she was going to do with this information, but she seemed nice enough. "I'm Franklin."

"Maude Eccles." Her hand was clammy and rough when he shook it. "I run a little  _business_ on the outside of town, known Trevor since his Bullworth days." She glanced over at Michael and Trevor, kissing passionately in the corner, Trevor's back against the wall as Michael trapped him with both hands either side of his head. Trevor's hands were running through Michael's hair. Every so often, they would pull away and talk quietly, or Trevor would slowly press kisses against Michael's neck, ear and cheek. As Franklin watched them, Michael's hands came away from the wall and slid around Trevor's narrow hips, pulling him in close. Michael dropped his head and let his mouth trail over the strip of Trevor's skin visible where his vest had slid down. Trevor made a soft noise.

"Oh, look at them. They're happier than pigs in shit," Maude said bluntly. "It does my heart good to see Trevor so happy. That Michael Townley is a handsome boy, I'll say."

"They really love each other," Franklin replied, nodding.

"That they do. In these desperate times, it's good to see two kids loving each other so. Trevor tells me they're movin' to somewhere sunny."

"Oh. Uh, yeah. I think so."

"Trevor's a precious soul." Maude looked at Franklin. Her fingers began walking across the couch. "I only wish I could find my Michael."

Franklin was alarmed. "Right, well, I'm gonna--"

"Hey kid!" Trevor came over to them. "I gotta get another case of beer out of my truck outside, come help me."

"Gladly, dog." Franklin shot up off the couch and hurried out the door. 

To Franklin's astonishment, the party turned out to be a hit. After a few unbearable repeats of "Last Christmas" from Trevor's Christmas CD, somebody put on something with a better beat and, after a few beers, Franklin started to have fun. Michael and Trevor slipped away to Trevor's room after an hour, leaving Franklin in the company of 'Nervous' Ron, who did indeed dislike Michael but had no problem talking to Franklin and telling him about the lizard people listening to his telephone calls, as well as Wade, who was fantastically kind and friendly despite his very obvious stupidity. He also made the acquaintance of Cletus, a chatty Redneck who had gone to Bullworth up until last year, when he was expelled for shooting the school's satellite dishes with a real-life gun. Trevor's friends were interesting for sure, and maybe it was because Franklin found himself positively inebriated by the end of the night, but he really enjoyed himself and liked them. 

The party ended at 2AM, when Trevor resurfaced with tousled hair and love bites staining his neck, and barked at everybody to "Get the fuck out my trailer, you vultures". The place was messier than usual after everyone had gone, and when Michael came out of Trevor's room with a sappy smile on his face, he found Franklin throwing half-crushed beer cans into the trash. 

"Forget about cleaning up, kid," he said, "it'll be dirty again by dawn. Come on, let's head back to the dorm." 

"Don't feel you gotta go back 'cos of me, man," Franklin said. "I'll head back if you wanna stay with Trevor."

"I'm _coming_ , homie!" Trevor leaped into view carrying an old duffel bag. "Mikey's invited me to stay with you over Christmas."

Michael chewed his lip. "I thought it'd be good company," he said to Franklin, as if he was asking permission.

"Don't worry about it, dog. That's great. Let's go then. You got a sleeping bag, T?"

 

* * *

 

 

On the morning of the 21st, Franklin took a shower in the nicer girls dorm facilities, got dressed, and met Michael on the front steps. Trevor was still fast asleep and snoring on the couch inside, next to a note Michael had left asking him very nicely not to touch or break anything in the school while they were gone. The walk into town was pleasant, and Michael couldn't seem to stop smiling. 

They stopped by the ATM to withdraw some cash, and then they headed over to the wealthier side of town to check out the annual Bullworth Christmas market. It was an explosion of rich color - reds, greens and golds, and for such a small town, each heavily-decorated stall was buzzing with activity. "Jingle Bells" played softly over loudspeakers above them, and as they weaved through the crowd, Franklin couldn't help but be impressed.

"All right," said Michael, rubbing his hands together. "Let's try to find Trevor something he won't rip up in an explosive rage."

The first stall they went to was run by a tiny, very old Korean woman who very nearly talked Michael into buying an enormous horse painting before Franklin stepped in and guided him slowly away. Michael began the morning cheerful and cracking jokes, but as the minutes turned into hours, he seemed to fold in on himself as they went from stall to stall, desperately searching for something to get for Trevor. Stress took over. By noon, Michael was livid, and taking it out on the chocolate crêpes Franklin had bought them, stabbing his fork hard into the thin batter and cursing. 

"Dog, your food don't deserve that," Franklin tried to joke, but Michael let out a groan.

"Why do you get Trevor Philips?" Michael said in annoyance. "He likes those tacky fucking sweaters, and I will get him one to wear on Christmas, but that's it? A fucking sweater?" 

"Don't worry, man, you'll find something," said Franklin. "Here, we'll brainstorm. What sort of shit is he into?"

"Uh, violence? Blood? Terrorism?"

"Come on, Mike. Likes, dislikes?"

Michael struggled. He did another tour of the stalls with a sour expression on his face. Franklin left him to it, and stood out of the way watching the crowd. He couldn't shake the thought that Tess would love this. He wondered what she was doing now, whether or not she had opened his present yet, or if she was saving it for Christmas Day like he was saving hers. It had only been a day, less than a day in fact, but he missed her. 

"Franklin!" Michael grabbed his shoulder and shook him out of his reverie. "Look what I found!"

Franklin followed Michael over to a small stall that they seemed to have missed before, and understandably so, as it was practically hidden by the others. A woman wrapped in a festive-colored shawl smiled at them as they approached. Her stall was an assortment of knick-knacks, beautiful handmade ones made from recyclable material. Michael picked up something and showed it to Franklin.

"See, it's fucking perfect! Uh," he flashed a smile at the woman, "I mean, it's freakin' perfect."

It was a model aircraft, a red fighter pilot plane. Franklin smiled. "Isn't that a kids toy?"

"No, it's not a toy, it's one of these collectable things, people go nuts for them. Trevor has a couple in his place, I've seen 'em. They're rare." Michael's eyes were vibrant. "And it's red, his favourite color, and you'll never guess what the lady just told me."

The woman tapped the side of the model plane with a manicured nail. "I can engrave something for you."

"An engraved model fighter pilot," Michael said excitedly. "This was the kind he flew in the air force! He'll love it."

"What are you going to get engraved?" 

Michael paused. A few moments passed, before finally, he turned to the woman and smiled. 

 

* * *

 

 

It had begun to snow again by the time they left. Michael had a bounce in his step as they headed back along the sidewalk to the school. They had bought the plane, as well as a tacky red-and-white Christmas sweater with a huge Canadian maple leaf on the front, which Michael had seen and instantly said, "Yes, perfect." 

"I wonder if Trevor's up yet," Michael mused.

"It's almost three o'clock!"

"Have you met Trevor?" Michael smirked. "Maybe it was a bad idea leaving him in a girls dormitory."

"Hey, man, I'm kind of glad that you stayed," Franklin told him. "Obviously your old man is an idiot, but..."

"I know what you're saying. Thanks, Franklin. I'm glad I stayed too." He laughed. "I've never spent Christmas with a drug-addled maniac and a kid before." 

"I guess we should make it a good one, then."

"Yeah. Before everything gets crazy. Before I have to tell Trevor about the baby, I just want this. This right here." He gestured around them. "At least I'll have somethin' nice to think about while Trevor guts me."

"I gotta say, I don't think he'll--" Franklin caught a glimpse of Michael's baffled expression and stopped. "I mean, for sure, he'll be  _mad_ , but maybe it won't be a worse case scenario kind of thing."

"Let's cross that bridge when we come to it." Michael swallowed. "Merry Christmas kid."

"Merry Christmas Michael."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing a Christmassy chapter in the middle of July was surreal, but I must say this was a fun one to write. I'm sorry that this chapter took so long, but I was in the midst of some unfortunate family matters that took up all of my attention and left me unmotivated to write. But it's all fine now, and I'm back writing thanks to your amazing and supportive comments. You guys are terrific. <3 
> 
> So, feedback! Let me know what you think! :)


	19. A Very Bullworth Christmas: Part Two

 

On the morning of the 24th, Franklin woke up to a missed call from his aunt, and also to a Jock and Townie noisily decorating the girls dormitory living room with a large cardboard box of what had to be stolen decorations. Rubbing his eyes, Franklin tossed his cell phone back into his sleeping bag and decided to ignore it for the moment, because whatever Denise had called him about was obviously not important, and could wait. He got to his feet and padded over to the living room entryway, where Michael was unsuccessfully attempting to hang up gold-and-red ribbons. 

Trevor stood at the bottom of the ladder, looking every bit the definition of Christmas cheer in a genuine red Santa outfit with white fur at the collar and the ends of his sleeves. The suit was about ten times too big; the large black belt pulled tight to the last eyelet, the cloth sagging around his skinny hips. A Santa hat was askew on the very top of his head, messy bed-hair springing up from underneath. Franklin was, for a brief moment, convinced he was still sleeping.

"Hang 'em  _straight_ , Townley!" Trevor was hissing. "Somethin' wrong with your eyes? Does that look straight to you?"

"I can't stick shit with this!" Michael snapped back, throwing what looked like a small bottle of kids paste at him. "I got more of it on my _hands_ than on the wall, T! Why don't you drag your ass up here, if you think you could do better?"

"Because _I'm_ too busy figuring out how to get a Christmas tree through those front fuckin' doors, Mikey! That's why!"

The day after the fire, Weston had insisted that all of the Christmas trees put up around the school were to be taken down and dragged over to the kerb for the garbage truck. Even though it wasn't the tree that had caused the flames, Weston wasn't taking any chances. Franklin had to admit, the living room did look pretty bare without the tree in the corner, its multicolored lights twinkling, the star on top glittering each time it caught the light. 

"We don't need a tree," Michael's feet clattered loud on the steps of the ladder as he descended it. "Just light some fucking candles."

Trevor looked as if Michael had just yanked his pants down and taken a shit right there on the floor. " _No tree?_ What the _fuck?_ Are you kidding me? What the fuck is Christmas without a tree? We _have_ to get one, asshole!" 

"From where?" Michael asked sarcastically. "You want me to pull one out of my ass, T? 'Cause that's the only chance you got right now. It's Christmas Eve, all the trees have already been bought up. What do you want us to do, break into some poor bastard's living room and--"

Trevor's eyes glimmered. "Actually, I--"

" _No_ ," Michael scolded. He sighed, the anger seeming to leave him once he saw Trevor's sad, disappointed eyes. Michael put a hand on his shoulder. "Look, we'll go out looking for one later, okay?"

Trevor brightened. "Yeah. I want this Christmas to be  _perfect_."

They seemed to notice that Franklin was standing there for the first time. Michael smiled at him. "Hey, kid. Did we wake you?"

"It's all right, dog." Franklin nodded at Trevor. "You really take this Christmas thing serious, man."

"Hell yeah I do!" Trevor beamed. "'Tis the season, after all."

Michael rolled his eyes. "Whatever."

Trevor scowled. "What is your problem, porkchop? You hate Christmas?"

"I don't hate Christmas," Michael said, but he didn't sound entirely convincing. He hesitated. "Look, my old man was never Jolly Old Saint Alcoholic, alright? Best we ever got on Christmas morning were food stamps."

Franklin understood, and he felt sorry for him, but Trevor groaned loudly. "Oh  _boohoo_. Little Mikey never got the G.I. Joe he wanted, big fuckin' tragedy."

Michael's nostrils flared. "Fuck you, Trevor."

"No, fuck  _you_. He might be a washed-out old shitbird, but at least your old man was around." Trevor's fists clenched at his sides. Abruptly, he turned his back on the two of them and marched over to the window. "At least your mom was around. You know what I had on Christmas morning? Fuckin' stale cereal and sour milk. No Santa, no tree, no big Christmas dinner by the fire. I had _nothing!_   So _forgive me_ if I want to celebrate Christmas with my friends this year."

There was an uncomfortable silence. Michael sighed heavily. "Look, m'sorry T, alright? We'll have a good Christmas."

"Fuck yeah we will," Trevor said fiercely. "And when I say we need a tree, we are gonna get a tree. And when I say that those ribbons ain't straight, then they ain't fuckin' straight."

Michael didn't argue, didn't sigh, just turned and smiled as he climbed back up the ladder.

Franklin's phone buzzed behind him. "Better get that," said Trevor, turning back to inspect the corner where the old tree had been, a few morose-looking pine needles littering the floor. 

Franklin scooped his phone up off the floor and went out into the hall. 

"Yeah?"

"Franklin! It's your aunt Denise." As if the shrill voice, like the string of a violin being plucked higher and higher, didn't give it away. On the other end of the phone, Franklin could hear crashing waves, the cry of seagulls. 

"Right. What's up?" 

"What? I can't call you to wish you a merry Christmas?" 

"Uh, no," Franklin said. "Since when have you ever done that? I thought you were in Europe."

"I _am_ in Europe, boy. Sun, sea and sand."

"So?"

"So," Denise said with annoyance, "I've been thinkin' about you. Wanted to see how you was doin', if you'd got yourself kicked out yet."

"I'm still here."

"Four months, boy. That's a new record." She cleared her throat. "Well, I just wanted you to call you up. Got some news to tell you about."

Franklin braced himself. "What?"

There was a burst of static in his ear as Denise let out a happy sigh. "Diego and I are engaged to be married, Franklin, and we--"

"Diego? Who the fuck is Diego?"

"Ain't you _listenin'?_   Diego is my fiancé!"

"What happened to Enrique?"

"Enrique? Oh, he's _old_ news. I dumped his sorry ass weeks ago." 

Franklin frowned. "Well, congratulations, I guess."

There was a smile in her voice. "I can't wait for you to meet him, and you know, I got a feelin' that you're gonna  _love_ Barcelona--"

"Hold up, what?" Franklin said. "Barcelona?"

"Let me finish, boy!" Denise snapped. "Diego and I are gonna get married this summer, and afterwards, we're gonna go and live with him in Barcelona. Guess you can ride out the rest of the year where you are, if you can manage that, and then we'll head back home and pack up once your summer vacation starts."

Franklin was horrified. "I'm not moving to Barcelona!" he protested. "I  _like_ it here. I got friends here, they don't--"

"I gotta go, you know how much international calls cost," Denise interrupted, "but we'll talk about it again soon." 

"But--"

"Merry Christmas, Franklin," she said with false sincerity, and hung up. 

When Franklin went back into the living room, Michael had hung up the ribbons at a satisfactory 180 degree angle, and was crashed on the couch as Trevor continued to lament the fact they didn't have a Christmas tree. The look Michael sent Franklin when he saw him walking back in was one of relief. 

"Franklin," said Michael, "Save me." 

"I think you're gonna have to save me," Franklin mumbled. "That was my aunt on the phone. She's getting married to some random-ass Spaniard and wants me to move to Barcelona this summer."

"What?" Michael's eyes grew wide. "Is she crazy?"

"Yeah, she is, actually. But fuck her, dog. If she wants me to move then she's gonna have to physically drag my ass onto that plane, otherwise it ain't happening."

"Glad to hear it," Michael said. "I might be graduating this year but we're still gonna hang out, kid. If you left, that'd suck."

Franklin managed to put his aunt out of his mind, though a niggling feeling of worry began to blossom inside of him. He'd only just gotten used to life here; he was doing fine in school and he'd made friends and he hadn't pissed off any principals to the point of expulsion - wasn't that what Denise had wanted? He was doing everything she asked him to, and even that wasn't enough. Franklin would be damned if he allowed her to screw up everything he'd tried so hard to build here. He was angry at her, angry for putting a dampener on his Christmas Eve. He threw his phone hard at his sleeping bag and quite enjoyed the thump it made. 

He turned around and surveyed the living room. He had to admit, Trevor had made the place look good. It seemed warmer somehow, softer and brighter. The golds and reds touched something nostalgic inside him and instantly brought a smile to his face. "I gotta say, Trevor, this place doesn't look half-bad."

"We still need a tree," Trevor replied. "Am I gonna have to lug it back here myself or are you two coming along for the ride?"

"I'm only coming to make sure you don't swing an axe around some bastard's living room," Michael said dryly, getting up off the couch. 

Trevor rubbed his hands together and chuckled. "Come on then, my little elves!"

Franklin followed him into the hallway. "Yo T, don't call us that again."

 

* * *

 

 

Michael was right. Every single festive store and stall in Bullworth town was totally devoid of even one single Christmas tree. As Trevor stomped around like a madman, sneering at every empty shop window with a face Franklin could only describe as borderline psychotic, Franklin had begun to lose hope that they were ever going to find one. It was almost evening and they had been searching all day, painstakingly going from street to street, but never seeing anything but depressing 'SOLD OUT' signs and enduring the shaking heads of shopkeepers. 

"It's gonna be dark soon, Trevor," Michael said as they turned down a small street in Old Bullworth Vale. "Let's just head back, put our feet up. The living room looks great as it is."

Trevor growled. " _No_. We need it!"

" _You_ need it," Michael shot back, his patience wearing thin. "I get what you said about wanting a perfect Christmas, but this is fucking insane, T! You're never going to find a tree at this hour, come on."

Trevor whirled. "Where's your Christmas _spirit_?"

"Back in the dorm, sitting on the couch by the fire with a cold beer," Michael hissed. " _Not_ out here in sub-zero degrees, looking for a fucking Christmas tree!"

"Guys!" Franklin called.

They turned and looked at him. Trevor's chest was rising and falling fast with his frantic breath. "What?"

Franklin pointed. Just across the street, a man was standing at a small stall, sipping from a cup of coffee, wrapped in a heavy coat. At his side, there sat a single Christmas tree. Actually, it was  _barely_ a Christmas tree. Scrawny, scraggly, half-naked with ragged-looking branches. Trevor was silent for a moment. Still. Then, like lightning, he had shot across the street and was right up in the man's face. 

"How much?" he was asking, his voice rushed. 

"Huh?" The man had almost dropped his coffee after being accosted. "What the hell - you mean this thing?" He was able to lift the tree with one hand. It was smaller than Franklin. 

"How much?" Trevor asked again.

"Uh, listen buddy, I was just about to throw this thing in the garbage. It's half-rotten, you don't--"

"We'll take it."

"You'll what now?"

And that is how they found themselves dragging a small, raggedy Christmas tree back home with them through the snow. The guy had actually and literally laughed as he handed it over to them, and he'd done so for free. Trevor was euphoric, Michael was irritable, Franklin was just glad to be going home. By the time they reached the girls dormitory, it had begun to snow again. It fell in great white sheets, clung frostily to their coats and shoes, stung the exposed, rosy skin of their faces and hands. The campus stood still and quiet, and there was something in the air - that soft, gentle joy that came with this time of year. That funny little anticipation that started as a small bud, then blossomed into something bigger as you got closer and closer to the big day itself. Franklin felt happy, he felt grateful, and he felt at home. 

To Trevor's surprise, pulling the tree through the front doors was not much of a problem at all. Trevor sat it down in the corner, and then the three of them stood back and admired it. Or, at least they admired what was left of it. It looked like something dragged down the street from the back of a pick-up truck. Compared to other bigger, leafier and prouder Christmas trees, it was well and truly the runt of the litter. 

And yet, once Trevor had wound more leftover ribbons and lights around it, and placed an upside-down empty beer bottle on the top, it looked like it was always meant to be there. The beer bottle did indeed glimmer when it caught the firelight, and even though the lights would occasionally flicker off-and-on, and even though Franklin was certain he could see a small insect or two crawling around the branches, the tree still looked beautiful. If they had found a normal, bigger tree, it would have looked weird. Franklin liked this tree much better than a normal one. 

Finally having a Christmas tree in the living room seemed to put Trevor's mind at ease, because after that, he settled back into the cushions of the couch and announced it was time for their Christmas dinner. 

"You have a turkey sizzling somewhere we don't know about, T?" Michael teased.

What followed could only be described as predictably Trevor. He ordered take out from some KFC just outside of town, and in a matter of minutes, the three of them were sitting on the couch with a feast spread out on the table in front of them, listening to Trevor's godforsaken Christmas CD blare behind them. Instead of wine or champagne, they drank beer and this pretty decent mulled wine from the Christmas market. Instead of turkey, they had a bucket of fried chicken. Instead of mashed potatoes, they had fries. For dessert, they dined on ice-cream. Trevor produced Christmas crackers that he'd swiped from a box in the grocery store, and threatened disembowelment if they didn't wear the little paper crowns, or fake a laugh at the horrible, cheesy jokes that came inside. 

They watched a marathon of Christmas movies for the rest of the evening, as the snow continued to fall outside and as they continued to happily endure their Post-Christmas-Feast-Food-Coma. Franklin began to doze off close to midnight, warm with food and alcohol, and slowly dragged his groggy body off the couch and over to his sleeping bag. Trevor made due with the sudden couch space, stretching his lean body across it and settling his head on Michael's lap. Michael looked content, and used the pad of his fingertips to stroke Trevor's hair. 

Trevor made a sleepy noise a few moments later, his voice partially muffled by Michael's knee. "Merry Christmas, you motherfuckers."

Michael's eyes were closed. "Merry Christmas, kids."

Franklin rolled over and yawned. "Merry Christmas."

 

* * *

 

 

Franklin was woken the next morning by Trevor Claus. The other boy's face was dangerously close, leering over him, so that they were practically nose-to-nose. Trevor was still in the Santa suit, and for a second, Franklin could swear that this was just some disturbing nightmare he'd one day be discussing in therapy. But it was definitely real, when Trevor opened his mouth wide in a terrifying grin and said, "Get up, homie, it's Christmas!"

Franklin groaned. "Fuck off." His eyes adjusted, and he saw that the sky outside was navy-blue. "Dog, what fucking time is it?"

"Six thirty!"

"What the fuck?"

"You gotta get up early on Christmas." And then Trevor seized hold of his arm and  _pulled_ Franklin up into standing position. He was stronger than he looked. "Come on, kid!"

Michael was sitting on the couch with a sour expression and rumpled hair. "Trevor, can we just have another hour?"

"Uh, how about no? You got me some presents, Mikey, and I intend to fucking open them."

"They ain't goin' anywhere."

"But my patience is," Trevor dropped to his knees by their pathetic excuse for a Christmas tree and immediately reached for the rectangular parcel. He fingered it with a quizzical, excited expression. "It's clothes, anyway," he said. "Jesus, Mikey, if all you got me was a fucking collection of socks..."

Franklin felt his tiredness lift. He sat close to Trevor with his arms folded and observed Trevor stroking his two presents from Michael. It was kind of undeniably clear that Trevor had never had this - the anticipation and excitement as you held a Christmas present. Michael had, either accidentally or on purpose, become something that Trevor treasured and felt very deeply and passionately about. When the time came, Trevor would have a hard time letting go. Franklin wanted to enjoy this moment, because the look that Michael gave him from across the room told him exactly what he had been thinking: that the storm was coming, and this would probably be the last Christmas Michael and Trevor were going to spend together. 

Franklin found himself reaching across the short space between them to lay his hand on Trevor's bony shoulder and squeeze. "Open it, man," he smiled. 

Trevor ripped the paper off in a blur of red-and-green. He held up the sweater against his chest, and glanced down at it. "Oh, you  _asshole_ ," he exclaimed, but there was a wide grin on his face the likes of which Franklin had never seen. In a flash, Trevor had torn off the Santa-suit jacket, belt and suspenders and had pulled the sweater over his head. The Canadian maple leaf stood proud in the middle of his chest. "Little itchy," Trevor mused, "but I _love_ it. Thanks, Mikey." _  
_

Michael smiled, but it seemed to tighten as Trevor reached for the last parcel. Franklin held his breath as Trevor turned it over and over in his hands, playing the guessing game. Trevor's past with the air force seemed a touchy subject. No, that was an understatement. The only time Franklin had heard about it was from Trevor himself, and he got the feeling it was something locked up tight and mostly inaccessible in the back of Trevor's mind. They had really no idea how Trevor would react to the model airplane. Franklin felt a small prickle of alarm run up his spine like a tip-toeing spider.

Trevor tore the wrapping paper off and looked down at the plane in his hands. His expression was unreadable. Seconds ticked by, and then a full minute. Franklin met Michael's gaze and the two of them exchanged a panicked look. 

Franklin could hear Trevor's breathing. Steady, but very quiet. His fingers moved gently to the propeller. He spun it with a flick of one finger, and said nothing.

"It's 'cos you like planes," Michael blurted, his face suddenly ashen. "Uh, and I saw you got some of those models and I figured... I mean, shit, I don't got a receipt but if you don't like it you can--"

Trevor raised his head slowly. He looked at Michael hard. His voice was low and rough. "I can what?"

"Uh. I don't know."

The silence was unbearable. Michael was squirming. 

Trevor turned the plane over in his hands and paused. On the underside of the right wing, there was an engraving. Trevor had to hold it close to his face to read it, and when he did, he spoke the words aloud. " _I do, and I always will. Love, Michael_."

Trevor stood up, and walked slowly over to Michael.

Michael had a look of terror on his face, but it vanished the moment Trevor seized him by the shoulders and pulled him in to smash their mouths together. Franklin picked up the plane and read the engraving a second time, confusion filling him. Trevor was squeezing Michael like he was terrified he might disappear at any moment, his nails biting into Michael's shoulder blades, legs all tangled together. Trevor pulled away and Franklin was astonished by the serene, almost peaceful expression on his face. 

"No one's ever..." Trevor sounded unusual. His words were brittle, soft, two things the Trevor that Franklin knew was not. Trevor buried his head in Michael's neck. "You're... Mikey, I love you. I love you _so_ _fucking_ much."

Franklin hooked Michael's gaze over Trevor's shoulder and raised an eyebrow. Michael mouthed back, "I'll tell you later."

Trevor stayed on the couch with Michael, their fingers laced tightly together, a big smile on Trevor's face. Michael had a few presents underneath the tree, which Franklin pulled out and pushed over to the couch. Michael insisted that Franklin go next, which was wise, as Trevor didn't look ready to let go of Michael's hand. Franklin had never seen him so quiet. But it was a happy quiet. A disbelieving kind of peace. 

He opened Lamar's box of presents first and felt a tug of affection for his dorky roommate. Lamar had given him a brand new basketball, with a note attached that read " _So you can quit stealing mine, you janky asshole!_ ", as well as two new, really comfortable hoodies, an awesome  _Bullhorns_ snapback that Michael highly approved of, and a joke-present that made him laugh: a cheesy self-help book entitled, " _Are You Becoming Paranoid? Learn How To Stop Causing Trouble & Accept Your Peers In 12 Easy Steps!_" 

From Michael he got a pair of really cool headphones, the high quality kind, and a football that he had to promise Michael he'd actually use. Trevor gave him dirty magazines as well as an assortment of small, peculiar things like sunglasses, a lighter, some action movies on DVD and... a garden gnome.

Franklin was bewildered. "Uh, is this some kind of Canadian thing?"

"No!" Trevor almost looked offended. "I swiped it from this bastard's front lawn in Crescent Heights. Thing was just sittin' there. Haven't you always wanted a garden gnome?"

"I...er, yes, T. Thank you very much."

Franklin couldn't help but feel a glimmer of excitement as he reached for his final present - Tess's. It was a box of assorted things like Lamar's had been, and his first impression when he slid the lid off was that it was an explosion of color. He felt momentarily frantic when he thought of his own box - it had been bare, wrapped messily, containing perfume recommended by Paige, a pair of purple-and-black Converse that he hoped Tess wouldn't find disgusting, a cheap but still nice ceramic mug with a picture of Springsteen on the side that he'd won in some fan auction on eBay the week before, as well as four pairs of high-quality earbuds because he'd remembered that Tess was always complaining about never having enough. 

Tess had put a lot of work into this, it was obvious from the purple tissue paper lining the sides and bottom of the box, and how each item was individually wrapped with paper, a ribbon and bow, and not just tossed in there haphazardly like Franklin's had been. He could feel his stomach filling up with what felt strangely like the frantic flapping of a thousand small winged birds as he picked up a flat, square parcel and slowly pulled off the wrapping paper. It was a CD, definitely not new, the edges of the front cover frayed and the disc itself bearing some scratches. But, there was something special about it. This was precious to someone, and Franklin didn't win any prizes guessing who. 

Tess had stuck a small note inside.  _Newbie! This is my favourite, favourite Springsteen album, and I'm giving it to you in the hopes you will fall for every track just as I have. I don't care if they "don't got Springsteen in the hood", because you've got it now and you better damn well listen!!_

The smile came easy and wide to Franklin's face. The next package held a black cord bracelet with a small green pendant. The engraving on the pendant read, "My homie", which again made Franklin laugh and also caused his chest to rapidly expand with something he had absolutely no idea how to describe, or deal with. He felt like a balloon being rapidly pumped up with air. 

The largest and softest package contained a sky-blue t-shirt that Tess had obviously gotten from one of those pick-your-own-slogan stores, because it proudly declared on the front that " _I Once Beat Tess Williams In A Bike Race, And All I Got Was This Stupid T-Shirt_ ". Franklin put it on immediately, grinning from ear to ear. 

He took his time opening the last present, desperate to hold onto the last bit of Tess he would have for the next two weeks, as creepy as that made him feel. He was baffled when he pulled off the wrapping paper. It was a book detailing the history of rap and hip-hop music, containing several chapters dealing with some of Franklin's favourite artists. He sat there, palm flat on the cover, for a long time. He'd seldom mentioned his own taste in music to Tess. He listened to her playlists, her bands, her vocalists, and only ever offered up a brief explanation of which person he liked and why. He never expected her to remember. He never expected her to care. 

Franklin suddenly,  _really_ wished that she was here. 

 

* * *

 

 

For Christmas dinner, they ate leftover fried chicken and drank hot chocolate (Trevor enthusiastically insisted that Franklin add some  _Pißwasser_ to his). The snow was so heavy outside, and it had covered so much of the campus, that Franklin began to forget what dry, brown earth and blue sky had looked like. He felt warm and happy, bouncing around the living room for the rest of the day, going back to his presents every now and then to pick them up, look at them, feel grateful that his aunt had picked this school over any others.

Around four o'clock, Trevor was in some kind of tipsy, Christmas-cheer-happy nap on the couch, which left Michael and Franklin free to clean up the food and wrapping paper.

"I'm glad you stuck around, kid," Michael said to Franklin, as they dumped the garbage bags outside for pick-up. "After all that happened, you've proved yourself to be a damn good friend."

"Same here, man, this was a great Christmas."

"'Ain't over yet," Michael smirked. "I got the feeling that Sleeping Beauty in there will be shoving this Christmas cheer down our necks for the next couple weeks."

"He did good today, though."

"Yeah, he did." Michael's eyes were shining. Franklin couldn't resist asking. 

"Hey, dog, you never told me what was up with that engraving."

"Oh, right. Well, it's kinda mushy." Michael flushed a faint red, carding his fingers through his hair. "I never told you why Trevor came all the way to my town to see me last summer."

"I thought he just wanted to see you?"

"He did, but it wasn't just that. It was... look, we both know that sometimes he drinks too much and gets kind of weepy, right? Well, when he knocked on the trailer window that night, he was pretty tipsy and... really depressed. Said all of this stuff about missin' me and hating how far apart we always had to be. He was just acting real weird. I eventually found out that his mom had called him from prison or something, and she'd basically chewed him out over his life and his expulsion and all of that shit."

Franklin nodded along. "And?"

"And as he was telling me all of this, Trevor got really mad, started kicking shit around and crying. He nearly woke the whole trailer park up, fucking nutcase," Michael said, but he was smiling softly. "Anyway, he starts cussing the world out right in front of me, and then he says that nobody gives a fuck about him. And I said, "I do". Calmed him down."

Franklin understood.  _I do, and I always will._ "Shit, man," he said.

Michael laughed. "I told you it was mushy."

Franklin hesitated, "But you know you're making it worse, right dog? You've gone and told Trevor that you'll always care about him or whatever, but next month or so you're gonna be breaking up with him and having a baby with your girl."

"Having a baby with Amanda doesn't mean I won't care about Trevor anymore," said Michael sternly. "It doesn't mean that at all."

"Somehow, I don't think Trevor's gonna see it that way."

"Look," Michael sighed. "It's... it's gonna be what it is, but my hands are tied. The truth is, I know what's more important and Trevor..." he broke off. "Trevor will just have to accept that."

Franklin looked away. 

Michael snorted. "What? Are you mad now or something?"

"No, I just think you're not being totally honest with yourself, homie."

"Huh?"

"Seriously, man," said Franklin, "I know you've always tried to make it seem like you could just break up with Trevor like it wouldn't affect you, but it's gonna hurt you more than you expect, and you know it. You keep delayin' the inevitable, Mike, you keep acting like Amanda absolutely comes before Trevor."

Michael fell quiet.

"I don't know shit about love, or relationships, nothing like that," Franklin went on, "but I do know that what I saw in there is something you fuckin' cling to with everything you got, dog, and I think if it came to it, if there was no baby involved at all, I think I know who you'd pick to spend the rest of your life with."

Michael stared at him in shock. His lips parted, but no words came, just breath in the shape of icy mist. Franklin pushed his hands into his pockets, turned and cast a glance across the diamond to the boys dorm. "I'm gonna take a walk," he said. "I'll be back in a minute."

Michael let him go. 

The boys dormitory stood sullen and blackened as Franklin approached. He raised his head and let his eyes bore into the charred remains of the right side. It was Christmas, and he'd been trying to forget all about the fire, but he couldn't seem to put his suspicions to rest. If Steve Haines was involved, which Franklin was still completely adamant that he was, on campus or not, then he was determined to find some evidence. Evidence was the key. Evidence might enable Principal Weston to take the Preppies down off the invisible pedestal. 

There would be construction workers coming the day after tomorrow to start the restoration process in time for the returning students, so Franklin was running out of time to find something. Carefully, he crept around to the side of the building, and inspected the flame-kissed interior. The scorched wallpaper had been melted off, and the lack of roof had caused a blizzard inside the hallway. It was a strange and oddly unsettling sight. 

Franklin strained his eyes inspecting the damage. They really were lucky that nobody had gotten hurt. The air around the site still smelt of burning rubber and gasoline, arousing Franklin's memory, and the still-strong feelings of disgust and anger that he harboured for Steve. He turned around and used his shoes to move the snow around, to dig and search in the snow piles, but he found nothing. Frustration took over. 

He moved towards the fence that ran around the boys dorm, identical to the one around the girls dorm. It was made of wire and mesh and, what first appeared to be just damage from the fire quickly changed into something more.

Franklin felt his stomach flip. The fire couldn't have reached back this far, it wasn't possible, but the tangled, broken parts of the fence could easily be mistaken for fire damage. The hole wasn't too big, but it had clearly been cut. Cut with hedge trimmers? It looked like it. Franklin pulled experimentally at the broken fence, and couldn't help but notice that the hole was the perfect size for a person to easily slip through.

It was obvious. Steve had started the fire, and then he had cut the fence and escaped through it. He'd probably ran all the way around the school just so he could reach the front gates, where his father's car must have waited to take him away. In all of the chaos, nobody would have noticed the fence, and the restoration team would just presume fire damage in the days afterwards. Franklin's blood seemed to be surging through his body at a quicker pace. He had Steve, he finally had him! This was evidence that the fire had been started by someone, it hadn't been a random Christmas tree suddenly prone to spontaneous combustion. 

And then, the cherry atop the cake, Franklin spotted something. 

A navy-blue, boys hoodie, torn and ripped, stuffed underneath the cover of a nearby tree. Franklin grabbed it and pulled it out. It was freezing cold and covered in snow, but after dusting it off, Franklin could clearly see that the holes in the hoodie had been caused by the material in the fence. He could see the scene unfolding before him like a movie - Steve frantically attempts to get away through the fence, but his hoodie gets caught and tangled in where he's cut the fence, and he's forced to peel off the hoodie and stuff it somewhere he thought nobody would ever see. He probably planned on coming back to get it after Christmas break. 

Franklin folded the hoodie in half and smiled. Weston wouldn't be back for two weeks, but when he was, Franklin would be ready. 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I had a lot of fun writing this one, and I hoped you amazing people had fun reading it. I knew even before writing this that our Unholy Trinity would never have the big tree, big turkey dinner kind of Christmas, but rather the awful tree and KFC chicken kind of Christmas. Um yeah. 
> 
> A thousand thank yous for reading, for commenting, and for celebrating Christmas with me in July. <3
> 
> As always, let me know what you think! Your encouragement means the absolute world. If anyone would like to do some art, the resulting art will go right in the chapter and your amazing ass will be credited. And I'll probably cry from euphoria. :)


	20. Meltdown

Franklin hadn't expected the Greasers to lay low in Harrington House, but he was definitely surprised by the invitation to attend Johnny's New Years Eve party that night. The Greasers had moved in on the 26th, and though Franklin had been doing a good job of avoiding that part of campus for the time being, he was still aware that they were making themselves very much at home. The distant bangs and shouts that he now fell asleep to spoke volumes. He pictured the place going up in flames by the end of the week. 

He was beginning to regret what he had done, and as the days passed by, he also started to grow more and more afraid that Michael would figure out that he'd been the one to encourage the Greasers to move in there. Looking back, it had been a mistake. Franklin should have told Johnny about Rocco and Ashley, not lied to him and cut a deal with Rocco instead. But at the same time, he could feel a storm brewing. He knew that he would need protection, and the Greasers could provide that. They were the Preppies sworn enemies. He just needed them to bring down Steve, he'd cut them loose afterwards. And if Rocco wanted some kind of reward, he'd cross that bridge when he got to it. 

Plus, he had enough evidence now to convince Principal Weston that it was Steve who had set the boys dormitory on fire. This was all going to be over soon; he just knew it.

Just after nine o'clock, the campus was invaded by the sound of pounding music and Franklin figured it was time to go. He got dressed and found Michael by the living room door. 

"What I don't get," Michael said, "is what the Greasers are even  _doing_ in Harrington House. Who gave them that idea?"

"Uh, I don't know. I doubt the Preppies are gonna like it, though."

"Yeah, no shit. Steve is gonna go ballistic." Michael paused, and when his eyes fell on Franklin, Franklin looked away and changed the subject abruptly.

"You know, you don't have to come tonight, dog."

"I'm curious to see what they've done with the place," Michael said. "Plus, it's not like I was gonna let Trevor go unsupervised."

Franklin snapped his head back to look at him. "What? Trevor is coming?"

"You wanted to leave him behind?" Michael raised his eyebrows. Inside the living room, Trevor was cross-legged on the couch, screaming at the TV, where some game show contestant kept getting the wrong answer. Michael chuckled. "Like Trevor would ever not go to a party."

Franklin felt hot. He wanted to go to the party alone. He was terrified Rocco would say something in front of Michael and Trevor that would make a light-bulb go off. He hated being deceitful, but coming clean wasn't something he was prepared to do either, not when all of this was only going to last until the end of Christmas break. But, maybe if he managed to keep Michael and Trevor away from Rocco, it would be all right. Then, he could use the Greasers and then drop the Greasers without any of his friends finding out. 

Trevor snarled, and threw a couch cushion at the TV. "The answer is  _Mesopotamia_ , you ignorant, stupid fuck!"

"He'll go around the back," Michael shrugged. "These Greasebags know Trevor, kid. It'd be weird if he didn't go to their party. If somebody throws a party in Bullworth, Trevor always shows up. Birthday parties, house parties, bar mitzvahs..."

"Wait, hold up, Trevor went to some fuckin' strangers bar mitzvah?"

"I never said he was invited."

"Read my lips, asshole!" Trevor yelled at the TV. "Mes-o-po-tamia, moron! Where the  _fuck_ did you go to school?"

"It'll be fine," Michael said, though he didn't sound entirely convinced. "Trevor will behave himself."

Franklin made a face, but grabbed his coat and pulled it on anyway. He had no choice. If he insisted that Michael and Trevor stay behind, it would only raise their suspicions more. All he had to do was stay with them, and keep on steering the conversation to places that kept him safe. 

It was raining by the time they left the dorm, wrapped up warm but shivering all the same. The rain had turned the snow beneath their feet to slush, and trying to move around in it was like dragging your feet through soup. The music got louder as they turned the corner and headed past the school building. Harrington House was lit up like a beacon. All of the curtains had been drawn, and from behind them multicoloured lights flashed neon-green, pink and blue in time with the pound of the music. The air began to smell like smoke and alcohol as they drew nearer. The front doors, always closed to the rest of the students during the school year, were now wide open and welcoming Franklin. He inspected the water fountain, found a pair of boxers floating inside, and knew that the Greasers had well and truly arrived.

"T, head around the back and say that you walked here from town," Michael said, and Trevor nodded, though with clear annoyance. Franklin believed that Trevor would have no problem striding through the front doors clutching Michael's hand, but of course, the Jock had different ideas. 

Franklin took a deep breath and led Michael inside to the foyer. 

What had once been a room of complete sophistication and peace, was now an explosion of people, color and noise. Dense clouds of cigarette smoke greeted Franklin as he loitered awkwardly at the door, searching for something he wasn't sure of. Maybe a sign that this wasn't the biggest mistake of his life. The expensive, finely-polished coffee tables now held up dancing girls, scantily clad and swinging their hips to the beat. People bumped drunkenly into Franklin as they staggered by him, booze sloshing over the rims of their red cups and landing on the soiled carpet. Paintings hung sideways on the walls, the couches were tattered and threadbare and sporting stains Franklin did not want to identify, and the bookshelves were lying, overturned and spilling out their books, on the floor. 

"Fucking Christ," Michael gasped. "What the hell are they thinking? Weston is going to hit the  _roof_."

Fear prickled up Franklin's spine, white-hot chills that seemed to sting. He had pictured some mess, some disorder, but a fucking bomb had this place. It was falling  _apart_. The Greasers had only been here a few days! What the fuck had he done? 

"Franklin!"  _Shit_. It was Rocco, his shirt torn, a cigar dangling from the corner of his smirking mouth. He clapped Franklin hard on the shoulder. "Glad you could make it, buddy!"

Michael arched an eyebrow. "You know this asshole, Franklin?"

"That you, Townley?" Rocco blew cigar smoke right in his face. "Didn't know you were staying for the holidays."

"Hey dog," Franklin said quickly, "What's up?"

"I just wanted to thank you for--"

Franklin panicked. "Uh, yeah sure, man, I hear you," he interrupted. "Great party."

Rocco gave him an odd look, but it disappeared quickly, replaced by an expression of bliss. "Can you  _believe_  this place? It's gonna be hard to leave, bro, this place is fucking golden!"

"Why are you Greasers even here?" Michael asked.

Franklin opened his mouth to rapidly change the subject, but was spared by the arrival of Trevor. The townie weaved through the crowd towards them, three beers already in his hand, his face bright and mischievous as he took in the chaotic surroundings. Rocco spotted him the same time that Franklin did. He took an automatic step back.

"Who invited that psycho?" Rocco said anxiously. He turned back to Franklin. "I better go, bro. That sleazy piece of shit makes me nervous."

Rocco took off into the crowd, calling out to a guy with a beard and black Ray-Bans. Franklin snorted. It figured that the Greasers would be friends with douchebags that wore sunglasses at night. He looked around, felt another stab of guilt, and accepted the beer Trevor gave him eagerly. 

"Remember," Michael said fiercely, poking Trevor in the chest. "You and me don't know each other."

"Relax, cupcake," Trevor rolled his eyes. "These lips are sealed.  _Unless_..."

Michael sighed. "We're here five minutes, and you're  _already_  trying to hook up with me?"

"That depends," Trevor raised an eyebrow. "Do you put out?"

"Okay, I'm gonna leave you two to it," Franklin said hastily, nudging Michael in the ribs. "Don't get into any trouble."

"I can't promise anything, brother!" Trevor called after him.

"You're leaving us, kid?" Michael looked worried.

"I'm just gonna check the place out."

Michael scrunched his eyebrows together. "What does that mean?"

"Will you leave the kid  _alone_ , Mikey?" Trevor groaned, throwing an arm around Michael's waist. "He's giving us time alone, I say we fuckin' use it!"

Michael shook out of Trevor's grasp immediately, looking wildly around. "Stop, T, not here," he said. He looked at Franklin again, confusion filling his expression. "Be careful, whatever it is you're up to."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Franklin lied, turning quickly away and ducking into the crowd.

The lower level of Harrington House was all wide rooms and expensive décor, décor which had been well and truly Greaseified. Each room Franklin passed through was worse than the last. He had a lump in his throat as he took it all in. He tried to convince himself that bringing Steve to justice would cancel out what he'd done here in Weston's eyes. In the deeper corners of the house, he started to step over bodies on the ground; people who had smoke or drank too much and passed out right their on the floor, groaning into the carpet. The song changed to something jumpy and electronic, and everyone around him screamed aloud and started to jump up and down, drinks raised in the air, their feet pounding the floor like a man-made earthquake. 

He started to feel suffocated, tasting nothing but stale sweat, smoke and boozy air, so when he pushed through a door and ended up in a quiet, smaller living room, relief washed over him. The room held only a ransacked buffet table and a few passed-out party goers. He collapsed on one of the couches and took a long drain from his beer. Just then, the door burst open again and two very drunk people wobbled through it. The girl was crying, her black mascara smeared down her cheeks in rivulets, her leather mini-skirt torn and her tights holey. Her male companion was slurring, one arm in and one arm out of his well-worn leather jacket. He was cursing at her.

"Fuckin' slut, you fuckin' whore," he slurred, his breathing laboured. "You whore...that I  _love_ , goddamnit! Why do you always gotta do this, Ashley?"

A raw sob tore itself from her throat. "I'm sorry, baby! I don't know what came over me. I'm drunk, Johnny! And I haven't got lit in  _so_ long--"

"That don't make it right," Johnny snapped. "We gotta get... clean or somethin'...can't go on like this. Fightin', arguin' all the goddamn fucking time. Otherwise it's over."

"Don't do this, Johnny!"

Franklin felt it was a good time to go. They didn't even notice him there. He slipped through a door at the end of the room, and found himself at the foot of a creaky old staircase. He hesitated. It wasn't like any of the Preppies were here, so why not? It couldn't hurt to have a look, and besides, he needed to have a look. It was why he came - to find a way into a certain Preppie's room. There was more evidence to Steve starting that fire than Franklin had found, he knew it. He intended to get it.

The music reverberated hard through the floor underneath him when he reached the next level. There was nobody around, but he doubted anyone would have stopped him if there was. The doors to the Preppies dorm rooms were shut, but they couldn't be locked. The boys dormitories and girls dormitories had no locks on their doors. Franklin tried the handle of a nearby room and felt a jolt of relief: unlocked. He took a peek inside and recoiled. The Greasers had taken over up here, too. One of them, or maybe more, was sleeping in here. The bed covers were rumpled and stained with mud and snow. The desk in the room was piled high with Greaser clothes, shoes and dirty magazines. The Preppie that occupied this room had had his or her books knocked to the floor. Most of them had the covers torn off, pagers littered around on the floor haphazardly. 

Franklin gulped. A quick inspection of the other rooms along the hallway showed the same. The rooms were torn apart. 

Franklin went up another flight, nearly tripping over a pot pipe that lay across one of the steps. The third floor's hallway carpet was caked in filth and soggy with melted snow. Franklin had to cover his nose with his hand as he moved forward. It stank, that all-Greaser stench of leather, booze and piss. 

He remembered where Steve's room was, and opened the door. 

It was the same as the others: torn apart, the mattress flipped upside down and the pillows destroyed, coughing out their feathers onto the floor. Franklin moved slowly into the room. Steve's desk held a few of his school books, but the Greaser that was taking up temporary residence here had snapped all his pens and pencils in half and carved a dick into the polished mahogany. There was a photograph of Steve and his family sitting on his nightstand. Franklin inspected it. The Haines family stood in front of a mansion-house bigger and grander than anything Franklin had ever seen before. Steve's old man sported a suit, a tidy goatee and a shit-eating smirk, not unlike that of his eldest son. Steve's smile was imposing. He stood in the centre of the photograph, with a hand on the bony shoulder of a bored-looking little girl with her reddish-brown hair in neat French braids. 

His mom stood a little off to the side, rather awkward beside her husband. She was tall and pretty, all liquid lines and soft eyes, but there was a frayed feeling to her smile. 

Franklin pulled open one of the desk drawers, and found nothing but a spare Bullworth Academy tie and a few extra notebooks. The shelves on the wall contained racquet ball trophies, while an enormous Harrington House flag was pinned above Steve's bed. Franklin checked the nightstand drawer.  _Nothing, damn it_. He needed something bigger.

The only place he hadn't checked yet was the huge, oak closet that sat on the other side of the room. Franklin moved towards it, but froze when he heard the door open. 

"Oh! S-Sorry, I didn't think anybody was here." It was just Ashley. Her face was flushed, and she had drunk, droopy eyes. 

"What are you doing up here?" Franklin asked, relaxing now that he knew no murderous Greaser had followed him up here. 

"This is Johnny's room," Ashley replied. "I mean, uh, it is for now." She was staring at Franklin like she couldn't quite see him, like her eyes were blurred. "You're him, aren't you? The kid who told Rocco to come here."

Franklin nodded. 

Ashley licked her lips nervously. "So, I guess you know then. 'Bout me and Rocco."

He nodded again. "Look, I don't want to cause trouble, girl. I should get out of here."

"No, wait!" Ashley stood in front of the door. "What are  _you_ doing up here?"

Franklin felt his stomach clench. "Just looking around," he blurted.

"This is Steve's room," said Ashley, taking a few steps towards him. "Steve hates your guts, he told me so."

"Well, the feeling's fuckin' mutual."

"So why are you here?" 

"Damn, girl, leave it alone. I'm going anyway." 

"I saw you when I was with Johnny," Ashley said softly, looking pained. "Sitting on the couch, drinking your beer all quiet-like. And now I know you were the one who helped Rocco. If Johnny knew about us, he'd kill Rocco. But you stopped it." She reached out.

Franklin took a step back, and felt the desk at the back of his knees. "Uh, yeah, look--"

"All me and Johnny do is fight," Ashley said slowly, still coming towards him, her words spilling from her lips. "And now, all me and Rocco do is fight. I'm sick of bad boys, you know?"

"You're drunk," said Franklin. "Come on, I'll help you downstairs."

She shook her head. "Help me here."

Franklin guffawed. "You got enough boyfriends."

"I remember you at the dance," she told him. "You seemed like a sweetheart. They're hard to come by here. Sweethearts make me happy, and I could make  _you_ happy--"

Franklin went to move, but all of a sudden Ashley had grabbed him hard by the shoulder, nails biting in, and pulled his mouth towards her. Her breath was cigarette smoke and booze, and frankly turned his stomach. It lasted all of three seconds, but it still wasn't short enough, because when Franklin jumped back from her and peeled his eyes open, the first thing he saw was Trevor in the doorway, beer in hand, a grin fixed on his face. 

"Well well  _well_ ," he said. 

Franklin wiped his lips with the back of his hand. "Shut up, Trevor."

Trevor's smile widened. "I'm so sorry to interrupt you two _lovebirds_ , but uh, we got a bit of a  _problem_."

Franklin stopped. "What kind of problem?"

"The I-just-accidently-on-purpose-pissed-off-some-Greasers, kinda problem," Trevor smirked. "Bunch of 'em are looking for me, so I suggest we grab the other guy and get the hell out of here."

"Damn it, T!" Franklin groaned. "What did you do?"

"Nothing! Jesus!" Trevor threw his hands up, spilling beer everywhere. "I just made some  _remarks_  to that leathery asswipe Johnny, and he kinda got a little angry. Then he said something about giving me a lobotomy, and I figured it was time to go."

"Johnny!" Ashley gasped. "I should go find him." She wobbled out of the room and down the hall.

"I gotta say," said Trevor, "Raghead is gonna be pissed that you made out with the The Ice Queen." 

"We did not  _make out_ , you asshole," Franklin snapped. "She fuckin' kissed me. She's drunk as shit."

"Whatever. I know lust when I see it," Trevor said flippantly. "What are you doing here, anyway?"

"I think Steve was the one who set the dorm on fire, dog, I'm looking for evidence."

"Steve?" Trevor scowled. "Why the fuck would he do that?"

"Because he hates me, homie."

" _Why?_ "

"Because I--" Franklin froze. Fuck, that was nearly too close. He felt his heart skip a beat. "Because he just does, all right?"

Trevor narrowed his eyes. Franklin braced himself, thinking that this was it, the truth was going to come spilling out and so would his blood, once Trevor learned about that 'favour' Franklin had had to do all those months ago. 

Instead, however, Trevor took a swig of his beer and asked, "What the fuck is that smell?"

Franklin sighed. "Greaser, dog."

"No," Trevor took a few steps forward. "Not just that." He sniffed. "I know that smell, it's--" He paused, turned, and opened up one of the closet doors. "Ah-ha! I knew it. Gas."

Something inside Franklin jumped. He stood up on his tip-toes and craned his neck over Trevor's shoulder. The closet held dozens of clothes, shoes, a uniform and... a can of gasoline. 

"Fuck, dog!" Franklin elbowed Trevor out of the way and grabbed the can. "This is it! The fire guy said the place went up because of someone pourin' gas."

Trevor looked dubious. "But still, Steve Haines?"

"I  _know_ he did it. And now I got all the proof I need to send his fuckin' ass packing." 

There was a sudden burst of shouting from downstairs. 

Trevor grabbed Franklin's arm. "Time to go."

"What? What happened?"

"I took a dump on the floor, and I think Johnny found it."

Franklin grabbed the gas can, and ran down the hallway after him. Downstairs, the crush of people swallowed them up, but they managed to avoid Johnny by ducking their heads. Franklin's heart was slamming against his ribcage. The gas can in his hand felt like liquid gold. Excitement filled him. Steve was going down. The first day that everyone came back, Steve was going down.

They met Michael outside at the fountain. 

"You psychotic asshole," he said to Trevor. "Why do you gotta start fights everywhere you go?"

"Any party where I can't grab your ass is not a party I want to stay at," Trevor said matter-of-factly. 

"Whatever. Let's just get back to the dorm, it's fucking freezing out here," Michael said, pulling his coat tight around him. 

Trevor threw an arm around Michael and Franklin's shoulders. "But the night is young! We should stay out, get drunk some more, maybe head up to that hill and terrorize some carnies."

"No," Michael said. "We're going back, you drunk shit."

"You always take care of me, cupcake," Trevor sang. "Unlike this piece of shit," he dug his fingers harder into Franklin's shoulder as they walked back towards the girls dorm. "He left us to go and make out with Ashley Butler."

Michael recoiled. " _Ashley Butler?_  Franklin, what the fuck?"

Franklin shook himself free of Trevor's grip and snarled. "I told you, we didn't fuckin' make out. She was drunk and messed up."

Trevor cackled. "And you were there to ease her pain!"

"Shut the fuck up!"

"Alright, easy," Michael said, "I believe you, kid. Let's just get back inside where it's warm."

 

* * *

 

 

Two hours later, Franklin was sitting on the couch with a fresh beer in his hand, the gas can sitting at his feet. The living room was quiet and lit only by the soft glow of the television. They were getting ready to drop the ball in Times Square, to ring in the New Year. For the first time tonight, Franklin felt like celebrating. He touched his foot gently against the can, brought his beer to his lips, and smiled. 

"He's asleep," Michael came through the door, heavy-lidded and sleepy. "He threw up a couple more times, and then he fell asleep on the stairs."

"Shouldn't we wake him? Put him in his sleeping bag?"

"Nah, he looked too peaceful."

Franklin smiled. He reached towards the coffee table and tossed a beer Michael's way.

"Thanks," Michael said. He collapsed tiredly on the couch and carded a hand through his hair. "What a night."

"You can say that again."

"Did you really kiss Ashley?"

"It lasted two seconds. Trevor was just trying to piss me off."

Michael smiled. "Party sucked anyway."

"You'd prefer to go to one of Trevor's?"

"Trevor's friends are creepy as fuck, but at least they know how to have a good time." Michael glanced down at Franklin's feet, and inclined his head towards the can. "Trevor mentioned that."

"It was in his closet," Franklin said, trying to hide his obvious excitement. "We fucking got him, Mike."

Michael frowned. "I told you to leave this shit alone," he said. "I don't think Steve set that fire, kid."

"Man, are you serious? What better proof have we got than this?"

"It just seems... too easy. If Steve did set the fire, he's not sloppy enough to leave something like that in his closet. And I thought Weston told you he wasn't even in the state that night."

"He had to have come back. I know he did."

"Frank," Michael's smile couldn't have been more patronizing. "I really think you should drop it."

Franklin felt a flicker of annoyance. "Hell no!"

"You're getting obsessed with it, man. It's not healthy."

"So you just wanna let Steve Haines set fuckin' fires and blackmail you, huh?"

Michael's temper flared. "He's a childish piece of crap just looking for attention," he growled. "I'm serious, kid. Stop giving it to him."

The silence that followed was tense. Franklin felt awkward. "Let's talk about something else, dog," he said. He glanced over at Michael. "How's Amanda doing?"

"She's okay, considering." Michael looked down at his hands. "She told her parents."

"Shit. What did they say?"

"Her old man blew up. Of course he fucking did." Michael's hand tightened around his beer. "He said she'd brought shame on the whole family. Said he wanted her to go to college, and now all she's gonna be is a fucking statistic."

"I'm sorry to hear that, man."

"Fuck him. It's her that I care about," Michael said. "Her dad says I gotta get this scholarship now, or else he's gonna call CPS or call lawyers or who-the-fuck-knows, and make sure that no grandchild of his is raised by a deadbeat dad." Michael growled. "Deadbeat dad. That's  _rich_ , coming from him."

"You'll get it," Franklin said. "You're the best player on the team."

Michael looked over at him. "It's more important now than it ever was."

"I know."

Michael closed his eyes. "I don't wanna wake up in twenty years, look in the mirror, and see some fat, washed-up old Jock staring back at me." 

The TV suddenly burst to life. The countdown had begun. Franklin waited until it reached one, and when it did, when confetti and balloons rained down on Times Square like colorful rain and the loud, celebratory music started, then he leaned over and clinked his beer against Michael's.

"Happy New Year, dog," he said.

"Happy New Year," Michael replied. He drained his bottle dry, and slapped it down on the table. "Let's hope it's a lot fucking better than last year."

Franklin jumped as something in his pocket buzzed. He placed his beer on the table and reached behind him to grab his phone. He had a text message from Tess. 

The corner of Franklin's mouth twitched upward.

 

_Happy New Year, Newbie x_

 

* * *

 

 

 

The Greasers moved out of Harrington House on the January 5th, two days before the end of Christmas break. They returned to their decrepit tenements in Old Bullworth Vale, the comfortable oil-slick of the auto shop, to the shadows underneath the bridge on Bullworth beach, where they would smoke and drink and fight each other to their hearts content. Franklin was relieved to see them go, but less than pleased to observe them practically looting the rooms of Harrington before they went. 

Michael watched with him from the window that day as the rain fell, washing away weeks of snow and spewing up mud. They watched as Johnny Klebitz staggered across the diamond carrying a high-quality, brand new stereo. Others passed, all taking a piece of Harrington with them. Rocco Pelosi left with a mountain of high brand, designer clothes piled up in his arms. 

"There's gonna be a Preppie running around naked now," Michael mused. 

"Greasers, dog," Franklin said, shaking his head in disbelief. "What the fuck are they smoking?"

"Whatever Trevor is, probably." Michael stole a glance over his shoulder, where Trevor was playing around with his red fighter plane like a little kid. He stroked the engraving with a happy smile on his face, his cheeks rosy. Michael turned abruptly back around as if the sight upset him. 

Franklin hesitated. "So, school's back on Monday," he began, lowering his voice to a whisper. "You know you're gonna have to..."

"I know." Michael's face was steel. 

"How far along is she now, man? Three months?"

"Three and a half."

"So, she's gonna be showing a little."

"She called. Said she already is." 

Franklin glanced back at Trevor. So happy, so content. But lately, it had been like walking on eggshells. Franklin didn't know what lay in store for them, but he wished that it was further off. He felt a crushing pity for Trevor as he watched him. And he even found himself angry at Michael. But of course, it wasn't Michael's fault. It wasn't Amanda's fault. It was just life. When everything was going great for a person, life always seemed to saunter in and fuck it all up. Franklin got the feeling that Trevor was used to that. It made the inevitable all the more depressing. 

"Monday," said Michael, his breath fogging up the window glass. "Monday, I'll tell him. I swear on my fucking life, I will."

Franklin smiled sadly. "I wouldn't swear on my life, dog."

Michael paled. "He's gonna murder me, isn't he?"

"I guess you just gotta... make him understand." 

"Nobody makes Trevor Philips understand anything," Michael shot back. "He either gets it or he doesn't, and fuck me, I really hope he gets it. I know I'm a piece of shit, kid, I know that better than anyone. This is gonna blow up in my face and hurt everybody in range." Michael looked down. "But of all the people it's gonna hurt, I just really,  _really_ fucking wish it didn't have to be him."

Franklin nudged him. "Can I ask you a question, homie?"

"Sure."

"I said this to you before, but I didn't get an answer. But I gotta ask you again..." Franklin exhaled. "If there was no baby, who would you pick? Trevor, or Amanda?"

Michael raised his eyes slowly. There was a beat of silence, and then, three words, clear as day and sincere as anything. 

"Trevor," said Michael. "Always Trevor."

 

* * *

 

 

Franklin couldn't sleep the night before school came back. He lay awake in his sleeping bag, listening to the even rise and fall of Trevor's breathing. He was passed out on the couch with Michael, and Franklin had to admit, there was something final about it all. Not just for Michael and Trevor, but for the dormitory. The boys dormitory had been successfully restored over the break, and the rooms were ready to be used again. Franklin was looking forward to having a mattress again, to having clean sheets and pillows and, God, he even missed Lamar dumping clothes on the floor and snoring like a broken lawnmower at 3AM. 

And once he got rid of Steve, everything would fall into place for him. He had a good feeling, a swirling churn in his gut. He shut his eyes and gleefully imagined the look on Steve's face as he was presented with the gas can, the hoodie, the clear evidence that he was a class-A douchebag who deserved to have his ass kicked to the curb. Franklin stared up at the darkness reflected against his eyelids, and finally fell asleep. 

Morning came rapid and rainy, the sky dull and as gray as dishwater as Michael, Trevor and Franklin heaved their belongings across the diamond to the boys dorm. Franklin stepped through the front doors and, weirdly, felt right at home. The place stank of paint and freshly sanded wood, and it was far too clean to be the boys dorm, but it was still familiar and a welcomed sight. Franklin breathed a sigh of relief when he pushed the door open to his room. He was glad to see his clothes, his books and belongings, but most of all, his bed. He collapsed onto it and dug his face hard into the pillow, inhaling that not-so-nice smell that he had gotten well used to, and had missed. 

There was a rap on the door and Trevor stuck his head in, looking slightly forlorn. "I'm gonna fuck off back to my trailer," he said ruefully. "What can I say, brother? It was fun."

"It was a real good time, T." Franklin rolled over and smiled at him. "Don't be a stranger around here, dog. M'serious."

"Course not!" Trevor looked confused. 

Michael appeared behind him. "I'm gonna walk Trevor back to Bullworth," he said. The look in his eyes... Franklin saw the hidden, unspoken message, and he nodded slow. Michael was going to do it along the way. 

"Always a gentleman," Trevor quipped. He reached down and laced their fingers together. He made a face. "Eugh, Mikey! You're sweating like a hooker in church!"

"Sorry, baby."

Franklin glanced at his watch. "Y'all better get a move on, people are gonna start arriving soon."

Michael nodded. As he headed out the door, Franklin saw him squeeze Trevor's hand. 

Franklin got up to close the door and then he got back onto the bed. His eyes fell crusty and sore after his bad night's sleep. He checked his watch again through blurred eyes. It was still really early, he could grab an hour or two of rest before the buses and cars started to pull up at the gates. A yawn stretched his mouth wide and he shut his eyes, the darkness that flooded them relieving. His body felt heavy with sleep, and slowly, he started to relax every bone and muscle. The rain continued to pound the window like a hail of bullets behind him, lulling him further and further out of consciousness. 

 

* * *

 

 

Franklin jolted awake when the door swung open. 

Lamar was standing at the end of Franklin's bed, staring at him. He was clutching his heavy duffel bags in his left hand, while his right was holding four, thick and heavy textbooks against his chest. Franklin sat up groggily, rubbing his eyes. 

"Hey, what's up dog?" He said sleepily. "You just get here?"

Lamar wasn't blinking, he was just staring, his button-up rumpled. "Yeah, I just got here," he said, and his voice was so serrated that Franklin looked at him. Lamar's eyes bore into him like a drill. "Frank," he said sternly, "what the fuck did you  _do_?"

"What?"

And that was when Lamar reached behind him onto his bed, and picked up something that crackled when he touched it. He threw it on Franklin's lap. It was some kind of poster, rolled up, torn at the edges. Franklin unrolled it with a frown.

He froze. His heart froze. Time itself seemed to stop.

"I found it stuck to the gate outside," Lamar told him icily. 

Franklin couldn't breathe. It was the photograph that he'd taken of Michael and Trevor that night in the clubhouse, only blown up five times. Everything inside of Franklin seemed to collapse. 

"That's not the only one," Lamar went on. "There's one on the front of the dorm, there's about ten in the hallway, and, oh yeah, there's more  _all over the fucking school_."

Franklin felt sick. "Who... who the fuck did this?"

"You, apparently."

"What the fuck?"

Lamar pointed to something at the bottom of the poster.  _Photograph by Franklin Clinton_ , it read. Franklin felt his stomach barrelling up into his throat.

"I didn't," he said automatically, his voice red raw. "I fucking did not do this."

"No, you did. You took the fucking picture, didn't you? You might not have made the poster, but you did do this." Lamar gestured at the picture. "I told you, you fucking idiot. I  _told_ you that this would come back to bite you on the ass."

"Where's Michael?" Franklin demanded.

"Dunno. Nobody's seen the fucker since these things sprang up all over town two hours ago."

"They're in town, too?"

"Yeah. Thanks to you, Frank, everybody in Bullworth now knows that Michael Townley is fuckin' Trevor Philips. Weston about had an aneurysm when he got here." 

"Weston's back?"

"Uh-huh. And looking for you."

"I'm sorry," Franklin said, unable to meet his roommate's eyes. "This had to be Steve, it fucking had to be."

 _Bang_. Franklin jumped at the sound of the dorm's front doors slamming hard. The footsteps that followed were hard, fierce and fucking angry. Lamar jerked out of the way as Principal Weston came barrelling through the door, tomato-red in the face, his fists clenched, beads of sweat peppering his furious face.  

He looked at Franklin, breathing hard. " _You_ ," he snarled.

Franklin felt his heart plunge like a stone into his stomach. "Sir, I can explain--"

"No, you can't explain," said Weston, "You can't explain this, because you're _done_. This was the last straw on the proverbial camel's back, you snot-nosed little shit." The throbbing vein on his forehead looked ready to burst. "Harrington House!" Weston said hysterically. "The _gem_ of our campus, Clinton! You are responsible for those  _filthy_ degenerates moving in and destroying its good name!"

A cold, icy shiver prickled up Franklin's spine. "Sir, I didn't--"

"You did, I know it was you. One of your filthy buddies ratted you out, slick. Pelosi told me everything."

Franklin's stomach lurched. "Rocco?"

"The things I found in Harrington House!" Weston shrieked. "The stains! The drugs and the alcohol! Somebody took all of the equestrian trophies from the cabinet, Clinton! What in God's name does Johnny Klebitz want with trophies?"

Franklin looked at Lamar for...  _something_. Some sympathetic look or smile to make him feel better, to let him know that the world wasn't crumbling hard and fast around him. But Lamar's expression was locked and bolted like a steel door. He felt confused and betrayed, it was clear to Franklin, who desperately wanted the ground to swallow him up. 

"Sir, I know what this looks like," Franklin climbed off the bed, feeling weak just lying there. "But I really can explain. It was Steve Haines--"

Weston groaned. "That's enough, Mr. Clinton! I won't have you besmirch the good name of one of our best students. He came to me this morning, shocked at what you did to Harrington House. And, to be honest with you pal, he told me something disturbing. He told me that you were the one who set this dorm on fire!"

Franklin snapped. "He's a _fucking_ liar!"

"Mr. Clinton!" Weston roared. "Watch your  _fucking_ language!" 

"I didn't set that fire, sir. Steve did. He's _lying._ " Franklin was sweating. He tore open the drawer of his closet and pulled out the hoodie. He threw it at Weston. "I found this on the fence beside where the fire was started. I know it's Steve's."

Weston turned it over in his hands, inspecting it. He paused. "Mr. Clinton--"

"It was him. And he put up those posters of Michael. He wants to get back at me because--"

" _Mr. Clinton_." Franklin stopped. Weston was gaping at him. "You said that you found this hoodie on the fence?"

"Yes, sir, I did."

"You're not doing yourself any favours here, slick."

"What?"

"The name tag." Weston scrunched it up into a ball and threw it back at him. 

Franklin fumbled with the tiny name tag on the inside of the hoodie with sweaty palms. He stared. "No," he said quickly, "No, sir. This isn't--"

"That's your name on the name tag. That's your hoodie you ' _found_ ' on the fence."

"No! Sir--"

"And what's this?" Franklin's stomach sank as Weston bent down at the foot of the bed. He picked up the gas can and dropped it on the desk with a thud. It sat there, taunting Franklin. His blood boiled, and he began to panic.

"That's not mine."

Weston sighed harshly. "How long are you going to keep this façade up, kid? What  _is_ this? The fire was started with this. It was you." His eyes suddenly widened to saucers. "Holy... Christ, were you going to do it  _again?_ Is that why it's here?"

"No! I got it from Steve's room!" 

Lamar was staring at him with round eyes. "Dog," he said. "Just stop."

" _It wasn't me_ ," Franklin's chest felt tight. His lungs were in a vice. "That was in Steve's room! I was planning on showing it to you when--" _  
_

Weston's eyes narrowed. "What were you doing in Mr. Haines's room?"

Franklin froze.  _Fuck._

"I've heard enough," Weston snatched the gas can from the desk. "I'm going back to my office and I'm going to call your aunt."

"What? Why?"

Weston marched to the door. On the threshold, he twisted around, his face contorted in anger, and snarled, "Because you are hereby _expelled_ , Mr. Clinton!" He left, slamming the front doors again behind him. 

The silence he left behind was unbearable. Franklin didn't know where to look. His heart was beating a smile a minute, and the poster on the bed seemed to be burning into the sheets. Lamar was still and silent. 

Franklin still couldn't look at him. "Dog, I--"

"Did you really tell Rocco to take over Harrington House?"

Franklin sighed. "Yeah, I did. But that's not the whole story, I--"

"No, Franklin." Lamar stepped back, angry. "What the fuck is wrong with you? You were the one who started the fire?"

" _What?_ No, you idiot! You don't actually believe him, do you?"

"Homie, I don't know what to believe. You got that fucking gas can, and that hoodie is yours, and you've been acting shady as fuck recently."

"I've been trying to nail Steve--"

"You were obsessed with that fire," Lamar put his head into his hands. "I should have known. What are you, some kind of pyromaniac freak?" He sat on the bed. "Get the fuck outta here, Frank, seriously."

" _Lamar_ , will you fucking listen to me?"

"Get  _outta here_!" Lamar snapped. "You aren't my roommate anymore, you just got expelled. So get the fuck out of here." 

Franklin hesitated, waited for his brain to ping with the right words to say. Something that would convince Lamar of the truth. But nothing came. His brain felt like a dead weight. He turned and left. 

 

* * *

 

 

Everybody stared at him outside. Lamar wasn't lying - the posters were everywhere. Two or three were stuck to a lamppost, they were stuck all over the school building, to the gates, the windows and doors of both dorms. As Franklin jogged towards the diamond, sweaty and nauseous, people pointed and whispered. Everyone was talking about Michael, about Trevor, about the closely-guarded secret that was now wide-open, lying cracked and broken in front of the world. Franklin had to find Michael. 

"Franklin!" He turned. Relief, sweet relief, came to him as he saw it was Tess. 

"Fuck," he breathed. "Tess, thank God, I'm so--"

 _Bang_. Two fists flew at him and one caught him hard on the chin. He stumbled, clutching at the burst of pain. "Tess! Wait--"

"How the  _fuck_ could you do that to Michael?" 

"I didn't, it was Steve! Steve never got rid of those pictures, he kept 'em, and now he's put them up all over the school because he knows that I know he set the boys dorm on fire."

Tess was glaring at him ferociously. "And Harrington House?"

Franklin swallowed. "I'm responsible, but you got it all fucking wrong."

"I think I do," said Tess, eerily calm. "I think I got you all wrong, actually."

"No, Tess--"

"You say that you want to stop the bullying here, but you're not better than Brad and Stretch. They'd never sink to this level, Newbie. You just destroyed Michael's  _life_."

"I fuckin' know that, alright? But please, you gotta help me find him, and then I'll explain everything."

"No." She shook her head slow. "No, I don't know how you can explain something like this. Everyone's saying that you started the fire, and that you put up those posters, and that you and the Greasers ransacked Harrington House." Something in Tess seemed to break as Franklin looked at her. Suddenly, she looked away from him. "And then I heard one of the Greasers saying that you kissed Ashley Butler."

Franklin hesitated, and it seemed like that was all it took. Tess met his eyes, and she knew. 

"Why?" she asked, so small she sounded like a child. "I mean, _fuck you_ , first of all. But why?"

"She kissed me," he said lamely. This had all turned into repeated words, interruptions, disappointed glances and heavy sighs. Tess felt like melting ice, slipping through his fingers at a rapid rate, and he couldn't stop her from falling away. "Tess, please. Weston just expelled me."

"I can't help you," she said quietly. She turned her back on him. "Goodbye, Franklin."

The world around him was crashing down on top of him, and he was suffocating. He was drowning in Steve's lies. He had so many questions, and his confusion and frantic state of mind were making him feel queasy. Franklin whirled, searching the crowds for Michael. All he saw was poster-Michael, everywhere and anywhere. 

What had he done?

A movement by the school building's front steps caught his eye. Franklin surged forward. His last hope. "Dom!" he shouted over the crowd, his whole body growing hot at their whispers and pointed fingers. Dom was sitting on the front steps, his knees pulled up underneath his chin, his arms around his legs.

He raised his head when Franklin stopped in front of him, panting. "Franklin?"

"Man, you really have to help me. Weston just expelled me, and everything's gone to fuckin' shit."

Dom stood up. He raised himself to his full height and met Franklin's gaze head-on. "How could you, bro?"

Franklin disintegrated. "You know what Steve's really like," he said. "So you're the only one who can help me convince Weston that this," he gestured around them, "that this was  _all_ Steve."

"Steve is a prick," Dom replied, finally words that Franklin's ears liked. "He is an egotistical, arrogant cocksucking turd. He made you blackmail Townley, he made your life hell."

"You got it," Franklin breathed. "So you'll help me, right dog?"

"I'm not finished," Dom said, his voice as cold as the air around them. He took a slow, deep breath. "You brought those slimy Greaseballs into our dorm. One of them was living in my fucking room, bro! He messed up all of my stuff, he fucking  _stole_ from me." Dom went red. "I kept a watch from my grandfather in my desk drawer, and one of your shitbird buddies  _stole it_! That was the only thing I had left from my grandpa!

"Dom, I'm sorry."

Dom turned away. "I thought we were friends," he mumbled. "But it turns out you're exactly like Steve."

Franklin collapsed on the steps after he'd gone. He put his head into his hands and felt his shoulders shake. His mouth felt full of wasps, and his heart was refusing to beat. He felt empty. This wasn't the plan, it wasn't supposed to go down like this. Steve was supposed to be the one losing everything, not him. 

Franklin tried to call Michael. No answer. 

He tried to call Trevor. Nothing.

He had to find them. But, he was terrified. Would the Michael he had seen off earlier be the same Michael that he found?

" _Look!_ " There was a burst of whispers and hisses from the throngs of students. The crowd parted down the middle, and a blanket of cold silence fell across campus.  _  
_

Franklin looked up. He saw Michael heading through the gates, fists at his sides, his head up and jaw clenched, and he was coming straight for Franklin.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shit has hit the fan. 
> 
> Serious. shit.
> 
> OH, and I put my writing playlist for this story on 8-tracks. Have a listen! :) http://8tracks.com/burtlancasters/trevor-always-trevor-3


	21. Making Plans

 

The crowd fell quiet. The hush that came over the crush of whispering, chattering students shook Franklin hard to his very core. He felt his heart pick up and begin to thunder incessantly. He felt those first few beads of perspiration coming to life on his skin as Michael Townley stormed towards him, his face contorted in pain, his whole frame radiating horror and fury. Some kids in the crowd took several steps back. Some reached into their pockets and took out their phones, ready and waiting to capture the precise moment Michael threw that first, powerful punch, and knocked Franklin's teeth backwards into his throat. 

Michael was sweating and wild-eyed, the sleeve of his warm letterman torn and frayed. When he got close enough, Franklin saw his bloodied, swollen split lip. He thought of Trevor and shuddered. 

Michael was going to decimate him. 

And yet, Franklin didn't try to run away. He stood frozen in place, hands by his sides, eyes slightly widened, and he waited for that first punch or kick with the same amount of bated anticipation as everyone else. He told himself that he was going to take every blow, because fuck it, Franklin deserved it, and if anyone deserved to throw a few punches and bloody somebody, it was Michael. 

Michael stopped. The crowd held their breath. Franklin shut his eyes and felt his body steel itself, ready for the first blow. 

But it didn't come.

Instead, Michael grabbed Franklin's wrist and jerked, hard, until Franklin was being pulled towards the left side of the school building. Franklin's breath rasped in his throat out of surprise as the crowd they hastily left behind let out a simultaneous, disappointed groan, and returned to their whispering and pointing. Michael didn't say a word, but his breathing was laboured and his grip on Franklin's wrist was crushing enough to snap the bone. 

When Michael let go of him by the side of the library, Franklin's hand automatically went to rub the assaulted skin. But he stopped himself, endured the pain, and met Michael's blazing eyes head-on.

"All right, dog," said Franklin, "do your worst."

He shut his eyes again, and waited.

Again, nothing came.

Franklin slowly opened one eye. 

Michael was staring at him dubiously. "Kid?" he asked. "What the fuck are you doing?"

"Waiting for you to hit me, man."

"Hit you? What? I'm not going to hit you."

Franklin's hands flopped back to his sides. "What? You're not?"

"Of course not!"

There was a beat of silence, and Michael continued to just stand there, looking at him. When Franklin realized nothing was going to happen to him, he relaxed his muscles, and released the breath that he'd been holding. 

"I appreciate that, man, but to be honest you're the only cat around here who doesn't want to kick my ass."

Michael looked away. "Everything's  _fucked_ ," he agreed. He glanced back to Franklin and stared hard. "But it ain't your fault."

Relief crept in, but Franklin's mind felt so full he didn't have time to process it. "Your lip, man," he said. "Did Trevor do that?"

"No, Amanda did that." Michael reached up and tapped his swollen mouth with the pad of his thumb, and winced. "Shit. But I guess I deserved it, after everything I did. She saw those... those  _posters_ \--" he spat out the word like something poisonous, "--and she turned around, and just looked at me. Just...  _looked_ at me. I've never seen anyone look at anyone else like that. It was like I was the shittiest, most disgusting piece of crap on Earth. And fuck, I am. I know I am."

"Did she break up with you?"

"No. But she said she needs some time,  _a lot_ of time. Then she said she couldn't look at me any more, she socked me one, and then she left." Michael turned away. "And on top of that, everyone knows about the kid now. She's showing, and everyone knows it's mine, and everyone knows what a worthless, cheating piece of shit I am."

"You're  _not_ , dog," Franklin insisted. "You had all of this figured out. There's no way you could have saw any of this happening."

"You're wrong, kid. I should have. We got ourselves tangled up with Steve Haines. Ain't no good that ever comes from that."

"So you think he's behind this?" Franklin said. "I'm glad to hear that, dog. Nobody else seems to believe me."

"He's a smart motherfucker, I'll give him that."

"You can say that again. He's framed me for the fire, and now I'm expelled."

Michael's jaw dropped. " _What?_ " he demanded. "You were expelled? Fucking when?"

"Shit, what time is it?"

Michael glanced down at his watch. "Ten thirty."

"Like a half hour ago."

"Oh, Christ. This is so, so fucked." Michael put his head in his hands, exasperated. "I bet Weston stood up for the little turd and everything. God, what an asshole." His eyes suddenly grew stern. "We'll fix this, Franklin. Make no mistake about that."

" _How?_   Steve's got the whole school wrapped around his little finger!"

"There has to be a way. We'll figure something out. There's no fucking way that I'm letting that son of a bitch get away with  _any_ of this. He's ruined my  _life!_  I could lose my spot on the team."

Franklin leaned against the wall of the library and exhaled. He felt hollow. "Mike, dog, I am so fucking sorry. All of this is my fault. If I'd never joined up with that motherfucker in the first place--"

"No," Michael cut him off. "Don't blame yourself."

"I'm serious," Franklin snapped. "Steve did this because he knows we're tight. And on top of that, when I had the chance to get Johnny Klebitz on our side, I went behind his back instead and made a deal with Rocco."

"I thought as much," Michael said. The disappointment in his voice just about tore Franklin apart. "That was fucked up, kid."

"I know, and I wish I could take it back. It turns out, that asshole Rocco was working with Steve all along."

Michael frowned at him. "What do you mean?"

"When I told Rocco to get the Greasers into Harrington House, he must have gone and told Steve about it. Naturally, Steve gets mad, and decides that he's gonna get back at me the worst way he can - through my friends, dog. Because of all he's done, he's gone and turned Lamar and Tess against me."

Michael's hand clamped down on his shoulder and squeezed. "But not me," he said fiercely. "I'm with you, kid. We're going to get this prick, understand? And when we do, Weston is gonna un-expell you, and then I'm gonna try and have a normal final few months of school before I graduate."

"Fuck, sounds good to me, man."

"We'll have to win everybody back," he said. "And then I got an idea. Steve's turned the whole school against you, right?"

Franklin nodded. 

"So we do the same. We're going to have to get every clique, every fucker in this place, and convince them that Steve has to go. We'll start with the Greasers, then the Nerds, and finally, the Preppies. We turn that asshole's own people against him, he'll have no protection, and no where to run."

Franklin shrugged. "Do you think that'll work?"

Michael looked down. "It's the only choice we got."

"We could ask the Townies," Franklin suggested. "I'm sure Trevor would be up for leading a charge against Steve."

Michael fell silent. He took a deep, shaky breath, and let it out through his nose. "I..." he broke off. "No, I...I think he's done with me."

"I forgot about that," Franklin said guiltily. "So, you did it then? You told him about Amanda and you... you ended it?"

Michael nodded. Slow. 

"And he  _didn't_ beat the shit out of you?"

Michael shook his head. "No," he said. "Worse."

"Worse?"

"He didn't say anything at all."

Franklin felt his stomach flip. "Not a thing?"

"It was like... fuck, kid, I can't describe it. He didn't  _say_ anything, but it was like he was exploding from the inside out or something. He started cryin' and he couldn't look at me. I, fuck, I  _tried_ to make him look at me and talk to me. Maybe a punch would have felt better than that crushing fuckin' silence. Finally, I just left. I couldn't stay there."

"And how are you?"

"How do you think I am? I feel like I'll never be happy again. That's how I feel."

"Michael, man, I'm so sorry."

"Everybody's abandoned him, his whole fucking life everybody's abandoned him. I know that he never thought I would. And when I told him, when I saw the look on his face and how broken he was... he hates me. He won't help us, Franklin. We'll just have to do this without him."

Franklin bit his tongue. He still wanted to argue Trevor's case, but it was obvious Michael didn't want to talk about him. Trevor was a fresh, gaping and very raw wound. Michael was incapable of feeling anything but remorse and guilt; there was nothing Franklin could do. It would take time, lots of time, but Franklin still wasn't totally sure Michael would be able to handle an existence without Trevor Philips. 

"So, I guess that's my next step then," said Franklin. "I'll go and find Johnny, and this time I'll tell him about Rocco and Ashley and somehow convince him to help us."

"I'll go with you," Michael told him. "This is half my mess you're cleaning up. The least I can do is--" Michael froze.

"Michael?" Franklin frowned at him. Michael had gone milk-white. "Mike, dog, what's wrong?"

Michael's lips parted but only air came out. Franklin turned around slowly, and followed Michael's astonished stare right over to where the path twisted back around to the school building. Two men stood there watching them. One of them was Principal Weston, wringing his hands together and looking cold. Franklin didn't recognize the man next to him.

He glanced at Michael. "You know that guy, Mike?"

The other man was tall and imposing, with wide shoulders and long legs. His face was square-jawed and tight-looking, deep age lines embedded in his forehead with bags hanging underneath his dark, squinting eyes. His eyebrows were low and thick, his raven hair receding. He wore rumpled clothing that gave off the impression he'd dressed in a hurry. His jeans were very old and well-worn, his navy-blue sweater the same. He stood there with Weston, his burly arms crossed across his chest,  _glaring_ at them with the same type of ferocity Franklin associated with wild animals scoping out their prey. 

Michael swallowed, and when he spoke again, his voice was brittle. "Yeah," he said. "That's my dad."

 

* * *

 

 

Weston's office was too warm. Coming straight in from the bitter chill outside hadn't given Franklin's body time to adjust, and as he sat next to Michael at Weston's desk, he felt stuck to the seat. Two weeks of no heating in the school building had resulted in the custodian cranking the heat up too high. Franklin tugged at the collar of his shirt, feeling his arms slick with sweat as he moved. He moved his head slowly to steal a glance at Michael. The other boy's face was red, but Franklin couldn't figure out if it was the heat or Michael's nerves. 

The taunting tick-tock of Weston's polished grandfather clock was starting to drive him crazy. 

"So," Weston sat at his desk, stirring a mug of coffee slowly and inhaling the fumes. "Mr. Clinton, I doubt that you're wondering why I called you in here."

"The pictures, sir."

"And Bingo was his name." Weston said. "Mr. Clinton, you have been a pain in my ass for the past few weeks. You started trouble in the past, but I never expected you to sink to this level."

Franklin clenched his fists in his lap.

"Vandalism of Harrington House, making serious accusations against one of our brightest students, and setting the boys dormitory on fire," Weston went on. His expression was cold. "I'm starting to think I should have thrown you out of here long ago, buddy. And  _now_ , here's another deplorable act to add to your list!" He nodded at Michael. "You've endangered Mr. Townley's position as quarterback and put his graduation on the line, by exposing the fact he broke one of Bullworth's most serious rules."

Michael stiffened. "But--"

"Townley, you've been with us four years. You know the rules against...  _fraternization_ with the filth of Bullworth town."

" _Disgusting_ , that's what it is," said Michael's father. He sat on the other side of his son, his knuckles white on his knees, his nails yellow with cigarette stains. 

Michael's shoulders seemed to droop. 

"I took those pictures," Franklin stated, trying his best to stay calm. "But with all due respect, sir, I only did it because Steve Haines threatened me and my friends. It wasn't me who put up those posters. Frankly, sir, that's messed up for someone to do that. Michael's my friend. I'd never dream of doing that to him."

"You're some kind of sick pervert, is what you are!" Mr. Townley snapped. 

Weston didn't move his eyes from Franklin. "I don't know what you were thinking."

Franklin hardened. "I didn't  _do_  it."

"You just said you took the pictures."

"Because I was _threatened_ , sir. And last time I checked, students threatening other students is also one of your unbreakable rules."

"Watch your tone," Weston said, eyes narrowing. "And the fire? The stunt you pulled with Harrington House?"

"If I started the fire, why would I do it the boys dorm where I keep all my stuff, where I sleep?" Franklin argued. "I'm telling you, sir, that was Steve. He was threatening me again, so I told him where to go. He didn't like it, so he started that fire and tried to frame me for it."

"And Harrington House?"

"That was a mistake. But I only did it because I knew Steve had something to do with the fire, and I needed to get into his room somehow."

"That's breaking and entering, Clinton," said Weston.

"I know that, sir, and looking back I wouldn't have done it. But I found that gas can in Steve's closet, and the reason it was in my dorm was because I brought it back there to show you today. Only I fell asleep. When I woke up, all of this stuff had happened."

"He's telling the truth," Michael added. "I was there that night, sir, and I know someone else who can vouch that Franklin took that can of gas from Steve's room. Franklin's got witnesses. Steve doesn't have one lick of proof that Franklin started that fire, while Franklin's got a lot on him."

Weston looked uncomfortable. "But the hoodie--"

"Is mine," Franklin interrupted, nodding. "Steve knew I was suspicious of him, so he must have taken it from my room when I wasn't there and decided to plant it at the fence to frame me."

"Do you have any proof that Steve came into your dorm room, slick?"

"Yes sir, I do," said Franklin, and the stunned expression on Weston's face was worth remembering. "I got two witnesses who will tell you that Steve was in my room a couple of times. Dom Beasley and Lamar Davis, sir."

Weston fell quiet. Franklin's heart was thudding. He almost thought he'd got him, until Mr. Townley's rough, strident voice gave a bark of laughter.

"Don't tell me you believe this kid, Weston?" he asked incredously. "Look at him! He's lying through his teeth."

Franklin scowled. "None of it has anything to do with you, dog."

Mr. Townley gaped at him. "How  _dare_ you, you--"

"Dad," Michael said. "He's right. Stop."

"Shut up, Michael," came the response, so angrily that Franklin felt a chill up his spine. "I came here to see what could be done about your issue, and this kid seems to be involved. I can say what I want."

"I'm sorry, Franklin," said Weston, his voice deliberately calm. "But you're still expelled." 

"But--"

"Let me finish," Weston held up a hand. He paused. "You're expelled, pending my investigation of what really happened with the fire. Now, I called your aunt, but she tells me she's not at home. That gives me no choice but to let you stay in the dormitory. Kicking students out onto the street looks bad in front of the school board." He cleared his throat. "Other than that, you're no longer a student of Bullworth Academy. You can't attend your classes and you can't attend any more school functions."

"But I can stay?"

"Not in the dorm room you were in, but yes, you can stay in another room until your aunt returns in May, provided I don't find any evidence to prove that what you're telling me about Haines is the truth. If I do, you won't be expelled any more. But if I can't find anything to back up what you're saying, your aunt tells me she's picked out a lovely school for you in Barcelona."

Franklin felt sick at the thought. "Why can't I stay in the room I'm in?"

"Roommates are for Bullworth students only. There's a vacant room a few doors down from your old room with Mr. Davis. I suggest you move your stuff over right away." 

"You'll see that I'm telling the truth, sir," Franklin stressed. "And when you do, you'll un-expell me?"

"That's what I said.  _If_ what you're saying is true."

Mr. Townley's mouth and fists were tight. "Weston, I drove through two states to get here and discuss my son's problem. Are you going to stop wasting time on some Sophomore fruitcake and start talking about my son?"

"Dad," Michael tried, but he was ignored. 

"I'm just giving Michael a warning, Mr. Townley."

"A warning? A fucking warning?"

Weston swallowed. "Look, it's not like he did anything serious. He got wrapped up with some bad people outside of town, and I know he won't do it again. Right, Michael?"

"Yes, sir." Michael's sadness was evident. 

But Mr. Townley was still hissing. "Nothing  _serious?_  Did you not see those Godforsaken posters hanging up all over town? Of my kid being assaulted by some greasy maniac? The boy's clearly got problems, Weston. I want to know what you're going to do about it."

"Michael's eighteen, Mr. Townley. Who he sees is none of my business. I just ask our students that they keep their love lives inside these gates."

Mr. Townley had gone red. "But he's going to the NFL. They don't let fags into the NFL!"

Silence fell across the room like a hot, heavy blanket. Franklin felt like he was suffocating underneath it. Having to sit there and listen to Mr. Townley's crap was beginning to make his blood boil. He turned his head and saw Michael - his head down, looking at his lap, ashamed - and he couldn't take it any more. 

"They let anybody into the NFL, Mr. Townley," he said lowly. "And honestly? They'd be proud to have someone like Michael playing for them."

Mr. Townley whipped his head around. "S'cuse me? Was I talking to you?" His teeth were half-rotten, stained with booze and cigars. 

"No, but it's clear as day that you don't talk to your son much, either. If you did, you'd know he's got a mind of his damn own and doesn't have to do what you want him to do."

"Franklin," Michael said softly, "C'mon, man, it's all right."

"Did you fuck around with this kid too, Michael?" Mr. Townley snapped. "Him, and that fucking psycho from town? I'm so disappointed in you, son. First, you throw your life away by knocking up that girlfriend of yours, and now you're a faggot. Think of your scholarship, how are you--"

"Shut up." Franklin had stood up before he even realized what he'd done. His fists clenched. He could feel his face growing hot with angry blood. "Don't talk to him like that, man."

"I'll talk to my son any damn way I want!" Michael's father rose slowly from his seat. He was taller than Franklin, and bigger, but the stench of alcohol hanging off his clothes somehow made Franklin feel like he could take him easy in a fight. 

"Michael is the coolest dude I ever met," Franklin said fiercely. "If I was his dad, I'd be proud as hell. It wouldn't matter to me who he was dating or who he wasn't, as long as he was a good person and happy, dog. And I'd care more about that than I would about some scholarship he doesn't even _want_ in the first place."

Mr. Townley grit his teeth. "Weston, get this kid out of here."

Weston's eyes were sad and sorry, but Franklin thought he saw the smallest hint of relief. "Kid, you're excused. I'm going to have a word with Michael and his father now." 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Franklin heard the music when he was halfway through the cemetery. It was drizzling out, the rain stinging his face where it fell, making the grass underneath his feet turn into slop. Trevor's trailer came into view at the top of the hill, the blinds pulled and the lights on. Franklin braced himself for what he was going to find. 

He recognized the slow, sorrowful pop song as he got closer. It was something his grandmother had played and sang along to. Franklin moved cautiously up the porch steps, wondering why all of a sudden the door looked intimidating. Removing his gloved hands from his pockets, he made a fist and knocked loud. 

No answer. He sighed.

Franklin leaned forward, held his lips a few inches from the door frame, and called out, "Trevor? Are you in there?"

The song ended. There was a brief silence in which Franklin heard nothing but the hiss of the wind and nearby honks of car horns from the town. He held his breath. He released it when the door stayed closed, and the song started up again. Trevor had it on a loop. 

 _Fuck it_ , Franklin thought, and put his hand on the door handle. He was concerned for his friend and terrified he'd lost Trevor, just like he'd lost Lamar and Tess and Dom, and pretty much everyone else who had been too good to him and Franklin had never stopped to appreciate it. 

Franklin nudged the door open with his knee, not that surprised that it was unlocked. The familiar smells overcame him as he looked around. The Bullhorns poster of Michael had been torn down, and lay on the ground ripped in half. Franklin grimaced at the sight of the poster of Michael and Trevor in the clubhouse, scrunched up into a ball by the bathroom. He peered into Trevor's bedroom, and found the bed empty and bedsheets scattered. Half-empty and empty bottles of beer littered the grubby counter tops in the kitchen, and the battered television set was showing a rerun of _Impotent Rage_ , the volume turned all the way down. A damaged radio blared the same song, loud and clear. It filled Franklin with a profound misery. It was the type of thing you listened to in the dark, clutching a bottle of booze and crying over your mistakes. 

Trevor lay on the floor.

Franklin moved carefully. He peeled his damp coat off and set it down on the couch. He reached over and lowered the volume of the stereo, but just slightly. Then, he grabbed a beer from the fridge, and he sat down on the floor next to Trevor's limp body and felt the weight of the world come down on his shoulders.

_Lying in my bed I hear the clock tick,_  
_And think of you_  
_Caught up in circles confusion_  
_Is nothing new_  
_Flashback - warm nights -_  
_Almost left behind_  
_Suitcases of memories,_  
_Time after -_

 

"Hey, man," Franklin said.

Trevor didn't answer. He looked utterly despondent. He lay on the ground in the fetal position, one hand around a beer, his other hand tucked underneath his head. His knuckles were raw and bloody. Franklin saw the tell-tale holes in the wall, where Trevor had punched and screamed and thrown every bit of built-up rage that he could muster at the concrete. He was barefoot, wearing only a grimy cotton t-shirt and his regular jeans. 

His eyes were crusty, red and had circles underneath them. But at least they were open.

Franklin took a sip from his beer. It was warm and bitter, and it went down sour. "Trevor," he said softly, "talk to me."

Trevor stared at the floor, his cheek pressed into the kitchen linoleum. He blinked a few times, but didn't say anything. 

Trevor not talking. That was something Franklin would never have imagined before tonight. Trevor's broken heart was all over this room, and Franklin hated himself for it. But he told himself that, no matter what he'd had to do with those posters, Trevor and Michael's relationship had always been bound to come spiralling down in flames. It was doomed from the start. Two people never meant to be together, never meant to be _friends_. Trevor had to have seen this coming. 

 _Still_ , Franklin thought as he stared down at his friend, _knowing it's inevitable doesn't make it any less painful_. 

Franklin tapped a finger idly on the bottle. "I got expelled, dog," he said quietly. Trevor didn't react. "Steve really went and fucked everybody over. Until Weston finds proof that Steve did what he did, I'm expelled."

Trevor sniffed.

"I'm sorry, man. I wish you knew how sorry I am. This whole thing sucks."

Trevor brought his beer clumsily to his mouth and drained it. He pushed it away, watched it roll across the linoleum, and Franklin knew when to hand him another one.

"I guess I wanted to see how you was doin'," Franklin told him gently. "But I don't have any bad feelings towards you if you hate me. It's my fault y'all got into this mess with Steve and... fuck, T, I'm really sorry about Amanda."

Trevor winced, but stayed silent.

"But I'm gonna be honest with you," Franklin went on. "Michael and me are gonna make sure Steve gets it this time. I don't know what we're gonna do, or how we're gonna do it. Michael thinks we should just win everybody over. But we're nothing if we don't have you." Franklin nudged him. "We need you, dog."

Trevor was still. 

Franklin inhaled. "We need you," he repeated. "But Michael needs you more, man. If you don't do this for us, do it for him. 'Cos I know the fuckin' anger that you must be feelin' right now, dog, for real. But I also know that, as fucked-up and psychotic as you both are, you and Michael ain't shit if you're not together. He's a better man with you, T. He told me himself. And I know that you'd rather take yourself out than have to live a day without him."

Trevor shut his eyes and squeezed.

"He loves you. He said he'd choose you over Amanda if there was no baby. But it is what it is," Franklin drained his beer. "There's a baby growing inside his girl, which means he's got responsibilities now.  Y'all ain't kids any more. But trust me, dog, if you give it some time, you'd be surprised how it'll all work out."

Trevor pressed his lips together hard. 

"Michael's dad came by today, man. Michael's in bad shape. He needs you. If you can get your friends to help us, I know that everything is gonna be okay." Franklin took a deep breath. "So?" he said hopefully. "Can we count on you, T?"

Trevor was still and quiet. And then, his eyes opened. He blinked up at Franklin for the first time, his eyes glassy and red. 

Then, without a word, he rolled over and turned his back on him. 

Franklin took his coat and lay it over the older boy's skinny frame, and the two of them sat there in silence until they had finished the last remaining beers between them.

 

* * *

 

 

Franklin spent the better part of an hour wandering around town, cold and damp, knowing he had to go home and spending an eternity wondering where that was. The rain was falling heavier by the time he got back to the boys dorm, though he wasn't sorry he'd left his coat behind. Trevor needed it more than he did.

The posters had been taken down and campus was quiet and darkly lit. Classes would resume again tomorrow, and it felt bizarre that Franklin wouldn't be going to any of them. He couldn't picture Lamar with another Chemistry partner, couldn't see Tess laughing with somebody else in English. Who was Michael going to ask for help in Shop when both he and Dave had no idea what to do? It was mind boggling.

Not too long ago, the idea of being expelled hadn't bothered Franklin. He had come to accept the fact he'd never fit into any school, that he would only ever last half a semester and then get booted home. But Bullworth Academy was different to his previous schools. His previous schools were modern, well-cared for buildings with hard-working teachers and diligent students. This place was just a prison in disguise for today's generation of future serial killers and corrupt politicians. And yet, among its grubby walls, Franklin had never felt more at home. 

He needed Weston to see sense. He needed him to realize what a spoiled, devious douchebag Steve Haines was, because the thought of not coming back here next September was one of the worst things Franklin could ever imagine. 

The boys dormitory was still reeking of fresh paint when he stepped inside. There were groups of boys gathered in the living room, talking about Michael and Trevor and their great, sordid love affair that could never be. Franklin snuck past them, but even so felt their eyes boring holes into his back. He was relieved when he pushed open the door to his dorm room and went inside.

Correction:  _old_ dorm room. The look that Lamar gave him when he came in told him as much. 

"Look, I just came to get my stuff," Franklin said awkwardly, moving towards his bed. "I'll be outta your hair in a minute."

Lamar grunted, but returned to whatever textbook he was poring over without another word. 

The silence as Franklin packed was intolerable. He wanted to say something, but the words were stuck in his throat. As he stuffed his clothes into a duffel bag, he turned slowly and peered at Lamar. The other boy sat with a serrated expression, nails biting into the spine of  _Advanced Mathematics_ like he was holding himself back from knocking Franklin out with it. Franklin went as quickly as he could. With every bit he packed, he felt more depressed. 

He gathered up his bags and moved to the door. Lamar didn't get up and Franklin didn't expect him to. He put his hand on the handle, and then he stopped. He hesitated. He turned around. 

"I just want to say this," he said, his words so loud in the noiseless room. "You know me better than anybody else here, and deep down, you  _know_ I didn't start that fire."

Lamar raised his head and looked at him, but didn't say anything. 

"I made a mistake," Franklin went on, "and I'm so fuckin' sorry about it. But you were the first friend I made here, dog, and to be honest, you're probably my best friend, and I know that if this was you standing here, in my shoes, I wouldn't hesitate to help you out."

Lamar looked down at his hands. 

"I made a mistake," Franklin said again, softer this time. "I hope you can forgive me." He opened the door and stepped out into the hall. Before he closed it behind him, Franklin met Lamar's eyes and nodded. "It was good roomin' with you, homie."

 

* * *

 

 

The "vacant room" Weston had mentioned was more like a storage room. Right at the end of the left hallway, it was cold and bare and probably home to a dozen tiny insects that Franklin hoped to never encounter. The lights flickered like a bad horror movie when he flicked them on. He drew the curtains, unpacked all of his stuff again, and then he sat down on the edge of his new, much harder bed and put his head in his hands. This was about as rock bottom as he could get. 

Franklin stretched an arm over to the creaky, old night stand and grabbed his cell phone. He opened his messages and typed out a new one to Tess, holding his breath the whole way through it.

_I didn't start any fires and I happen to think Ashley Butler is gross. I'd like 2 talk to u - miss u x_

He massaged his temples as he waited for a response. His phone pinged a few minutes later. 

_just go away Newbie_

Franklin sighed and tossed his phone back onto his pillow. He suddenly understood how Michael felt.

He lay back onto the bed and shut his sore, tired eyes. He probably shouldn't have had all of those beers, but then, he miserably remembered that it didn't matter whether or not he had a hangover in the morning. He had no classes to go to, nowhere to be. He could stay on this stone-hard mattress for as long as he wanted. That probably sounded like a paradise to some.

But not to him.

He felt so heavy-lidded and exhausted that he thought he was dreaming when he saw Lamar standing in the doorway. He was wearing his glasses, eyes blinking awkward behind them.

"Damn," Lamar said, "this room stinks."

"Yeah, no shit." Franklin sat up and looked at him solemnly. "Guess I deserve it."

Lamar sat down on the edge of the bed and pulled at the collar of his t-shirt. "Yeah, well, you did some messed up shit."

Franklin nodded miserably.

"So why'd you do it?"

"What, the Harrington House thing?"

"Yeah."

"I thought it would piss off Steve. I was angry and I wasn't thinking. Turns out, that fuck Rocco's been working with Steve all along."

"Huh? A Greaser and a Preppie working together?" Lamar was doubtful. "Why?"

"I don't know yet, but I guess we'll find out. Michael and me are planning on going down to the auto shop and asking Johnny Klebitz for help."

"That easy, huh?" Lamar snorted.

Franklin smiled tightly. "Probably not, but it's not like I have any choice." He studied Lamar carefully. "So what's wrong, homie? You talking to me now?"

Lamar frowned. "I was right to be pissed at you, dog. You _was_ acting real shady. But what you said back there... I figured you were right. If you know what to look for, all the signs point to Steve's janky ass, not you."

"Thanks."

"Plus, how is a little bitch like you gonna start a fire?" Lamar sniggered. "I'm surprised you carried that big-ass gas can all the way across campus."

"Ha-ha." 

It felt good to have Lamar back. It was the first good news of the day, and Franklin was so relieved. For the first time, he felt the smallest glimmer of hope that everything wasn't gone to shit. A tiny glimmer, but it was there all the same. 

"All jokes aside though, dog," said Lamar, "I'm with you in whatever it is you're planning to do. We only got a couple months left of school and I don't want Steve graduating without getting the beat-down he deserves."

Franklin smiled. "Thank you, homie. That means a lot."

There was a silence. Lamar was staring at him.

Franklin blinked. "What?"

Lamar grinned. "I think we supposed to hug it out."

"Oh, fuck you." Franklin laughed, but even so, he leaned over to wrap his arms around Lamar in a brief embrace, just as another voice sounded at the door.

"Whoa, am I interrupting something?"

Franklin rolled his eyes and sat backwards. "Hey, Michael."

Michael pulled a small smile and wandered into the room, letting the door click close behind him. "Fuck me," he said. "It smells like a bathroom in here."

"It's good to see you, man," Franklin told him. "And hey, I didn't mean to flip out on your dad like that--"

"I appreciated it," Michael said. "Seriously. It was really fuckin' satisfying to see my dad get chewed out by a sixteen year old sophomore." He sighed, looking sheepish. "You're a brave kid. I wish I could say the stuff you did to him."

"You can, you know."

"I guess so, he seems pretty done with me. Drunken piece of shit."

"He's just angry," Franklin replied. "Don't worry about it."

Michael leaned against the wall and folded his arms. He looked exhausted. "Do you mind if I hang out here for a while? Davey's not exactly talking to me."

"Stay as long as you want, dog." 

"Whole team's not talking to me, actually," Michael brought his eyebrows together. "Bunch of lousy... I think Dave's trying to oust me from being the QB, fucking asshole."

"Dave?" Lamar snorted. "That guy can't run ten yards without wheezing his ass off."

Michael didn't smile. "Couple of the guys said they'd be _nervous_ having me in the locker room."

Franklin groaned. "Fuck those dudes, man. They'll want you back the second they start to lose."

"Yesterday seems like it was years ago," Michael mused. "Fuck, I... I can't stop thinking about Trevor."

Franklin chewed on his bottom lip nervously. "He ain't doing too good, dog."

Michael winced. "As in...?"

"As in the dude's lying on the floor of his trailer, drunk off his ass and listening to Cyndi Lauper."

"Oh, Christ." 

Lamar sighed. "Fuck, so he's not gonna help us then?"

"I asked him," Franklin said. "But he didn't say shit. But you never know, he might come around."

Michael looked away. "He won't."

"But--"

"He _won't_ , kid. Trust me. I hurt him real bad. We're just gonna have to do this without him."

"So what's our next move?" asked Lamar. "The Greasers?"

Franklin nodded. "We gotta tell Johnny about what Rocco's been doin' behind his back, and hopefully he'll come around."

"And then?" said Michael. "The Nerds?"

"Lester's a good cat to have on board," Lamar agreed. "I'll tell him and the others that we're good now. Plus, he's attached to that super computer of his. I bet if we asked him, he could dig up some shit on Steve Haines."

"Sounds good," Franklin said. "Then all that's left is the Preppies. We need Dom for that part. He's pissed at me, but he's a cool guy deep down. I'll convince him."

"What about the Jocks?" Lamar asked, looking over at Michael. 

Michael shrugged. "I'm supposedly the head honcho, right? As long as I'm on the team, they'll listen to me."

A small smile played at Franklin's lips. "This could actually work."

"We _need_ it to," Lamar added. 

"Steve better watch his ass," Franklin joked. "Because we're coming for him." 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song Trevor was listening to was, of course, "Time After Time" by Cyndi Lauper. It makes me sob like a child. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2PqhOrgk11A
> 
> THANK YOU for the incredible feedback and encouragement on the last chapter - you guys are fucking amazing and writing this little fic for you is an absolute joy. This story should be wrapping up pretty soon, but we still have a good few chapters left. I have a busy few weeks ahead but I'll be writing every day and trying to get as much as I can done.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this one! I don't have time to check back over it all right now, so any mistakes are my own. :)


	22. The Partnership

 

The next day was somehow worse.

The feeling of isolation, more than anything, was what had Franklin feeling like someone had put his insides inside an ice-cold vice. He might have had Lamar and Michael on his side again, but as far as the rest of the school were concerned, he was invisible. Nobody seemed to know quite what to say to the boy who had -- in their minds -- burnt down the boys dormitory and dragged the school quarterback's name through the dirt. Every so often, Franklin would get a shoulder banging against his as he walked down the dorm's hallway, or sometimes he'd now hear a shouted cuss-word come his way, but that was the extent of it. 

He must really have done it this time, to not even get any physical abuse at Bullworth Academy, where beatings were handed out as daily as breakfast. Franklin felt like a deplorable human being. 

That was why he had to do this. If he got Johnny on his side, they might just have a chance. It wasn't going to be easy, but at this point, Franklin had nothing to lose. 

That night was full, the darkness so thick with shadows, an elusive sliver of pearly moonlight lighting up some distant nook or cranny, only to disappear behind clouds again. Franklin sat on the steps of the boys dorm, drumming his fingers on his knee to some inconsequential beat. In the golden glow cast on the ground in front of him by the windows, he observed a group of tiny ants attempting to pick up an empty cigarette box. 

Cigarettes. It seemed like the universe was fucking with him. Wherever Franklin looked now, all he saw were evocative reminders of Tess. This cigarette box, or a girl with some neon hair color, or a dilapidated old vinyl store. All painful reminds of what a piece of shit he'd been. His stomach throbbed. He missed her. 

The door behind him opened with a creak. "Aw, here he is," said a voice. "Sitting out here in the cold, feelin' sorry for himself."

Franklin glanced up at Lamar. The taller boy was leaning against the door jamb, cleaning the lenses of his glasses with the end of his t-shirt. Behind him, Michael stood, smiling soft, looking down at Franklin with affection. But Franklin could still see the tiredness in his eyes. 

It had been a bad day for Michael. 

"Are you ready to go, kid?" Michael asked him, stepping out into the cold and shivering. "If we wait too long, the Greasers might not even be there at all. They usually head over to the Vale, this time of night."

"I'm ready." Franklin stood. He made sure to step over the ants. "Are you?"

"It's this or let Steve win," Michael answered. His fists clenched. "What do you think?"

They set off walking, Franklin leading. He took a deep breath and silently asked God, the stars, whoever was in charge up there, to help him out. Someone had to be listening. 

"Do we got a plan, if it don't fall through the way it's supposed to?" asked Lamar.

Franklin shrugged. "We're gonna sneak in, make sure Rocco don't see us, and then we're gonna find Johnny and ask for his help."

Michael hummed in agreement. "By telling him about Rocco and Ashley?"

"Pretty much. And what a douchebag Steve is."

"Take it slow in here, guys," Michael warned. "If we start running our mouths, Johnny's not the kind to sit pretty and listen."

"It'll be fine," Franklin told him. He didn't sound very convincing, and doubted the other two believed him. 

An owl hooted from the top of a nearby tree as they approached the school building, being careful to watch out for prefects or Preppies as they went. Franklin's heart was racing. He could see the faint light from the auto shop in the distance, behind the low-running walls. The stillness screamed in his ears. 

Behind Franklin, Lamar nudged Michael in the ribs. "How are you doin', QB?"

"I appreciate you askin'," Michael muttered. "But not too good. Not good at all."

Franklin glanced over his shoulder. "Amanda?"

"We talked a little today," Michael replied. "She's nowhere near forgiving me yet, but that's fine. I don't expect her to. But she has a scan coming up in a couple of days and wants me to be there."

Franklin smiled softly. "That's good to hear, Mike."

"Yeah. It's definitely gonna make it more  _real_ , you know? I'm gonna see it there, on the screen. My kid." He chuckled low. "Hope it looks like her."

"You want a boy or girl?" Lamar asked him. 

"Oh man, that doesn't matter to me. As long as it's healthy. But Amanda wants a girl."

Lamar grinned. "A li'l princess to spoil, huh?"

Michael laughed. "Yeah, I suppose so."

Franklin slowed his steps to fall back in line with the two of them, and also so that he could put an arm around Michael and squeeze. "Hey, you're gonna be a great father, Michael."

"Thanks," said Michael. "Guess I can't do any worse than mine."

There was a distant crash. A beer bottle smashing. Franklin stopped, the other two following. He held a hand out and waited, listening for the all-clear. "Well," he said, "they're definitely home."

"Yeah, I can hear voices," Lamar added. He exhaled. "Fuck, I kind of wish Tess was here right now, homie. I feel a lot safer when she's around."

Franklin glanced away. "Me too. But we gotta do this without her, dog."

"Hey," Lamar elbowed him. "She'll come around."

"I don't think so, homie."

"She  _will_ ," Lamar sighed. "She knows you ain't a bad dude. She's just mad. Girls get mad sometimes."

Franklin snorted. "Thank you Lamar Davis, expert on the female gender."

"You know it!" Lamar grinned. "Hey, seriously though," he hesitated. "Be honest, man... you like her, don't you?"

 _Like_ her? It sounded like such an understatement. 

Franklin had dated haphazardly since the age of thirteen. He moved around so much that he'd never had time to have a proper girlfriend. The girls he was with lasted a few weeks each time, one in every town that Denise had dragged him to. They'd all been nice, but compared to Tess?  _Jesus_. Tess was a world of her own. She was extraordinary. Franklin wanted to look at her and talk to her, usually about nothing, for hours. That wasn't liking someone, was it? Liking someone was awkward movie dates and slurpy kisses behind Burger Shot. Tess felt bigger than that. Above all of that. With her, Franklin couldn't help but imagine (and he had imagined quite a lot) that it would be different. So, beautifully, radically different. It would be easy. Effortless.

And it was killing him, literally akin to sticking a dagger in his heart, that she wasn't speaking to him right now. Tess was the sun and Franklin needed her back.  

"Uh," he heard Michael's voice in his ear, breaking through his thoughts. "I think you can take his silence for a yes."

Franklin roused himself from thoughts of cherry hair and cream skin, and the darkness found him again, cold and hollow. "I like her," he said. 

"Really?" Lamar said sarcastically. "Fuck, dog, you know what else? The grass is green, and night time is dark, and--"

"Alright, alright," Franklin moved ahead. "We need to keep moving."

The smell of engine exhaust and gasoline propelled them forward. Franklin kept low, slinking through the darkness, an act he had now perfected. When he thought about it, the amount of time he'd spent moving around in the dark so far this year was ridiculous. Hopefully, this would be the last time. He inhaled and tasted the gasoline on his tongue, stinging and potent. He wasn't sure what would lay waiting for them inside the auto shop, but Johnny Klebitz was definitely there, he was probably angry, and he was absolutely interested in kicking Franklin's ass. 

This would be interesting. 

As the three of them reached the wall, Franklin peered over it and saw the familiar, dim lights outside the auto shop, as well as two silhouettes. The taller of the two leaned against the garage wall, taking swigs from a bottle of beer, running his mouth.

"It's Rocco," Michael whispered. "Shit, we have to sneak past him."

"What?" Lamar was incredulous. "Are you loco? That fruitloop can probably smell fear. He'll find us."

"No," Franklin said firmly, so firmly that they both looked at him. He looked back. "I'm not afraid."

Michael craned his neck over the wall. "Still, let's go about this quietly."

Franklin moved ahead, using the wall as cover, feeling out in front of him with open hands. As they went on, it became harder to see. That wasn't too bad. If they couldn't see Rocco, he couldn't see them. 

But they could hear him.

"--So then I says, 'Well, it's about time we crushed Haines into the dirt', and he's looking at me all amazed, and he fuckin' believes me!" Rocco laughed giddily. "What an idiot!"

Franklin's teeth clenched. He twisted around to the others and hissed, "Keep moving. This wall goes around to the side of the shop, we'll hop over it and go in the side door."

Slow steps, careful breathing. Franklin winced with every scrape of his shoe against the gravel and asphalt, but stayed going forward, Rocco's arrogant laughter ringing red in his ears.  _Don't listen, keep going..._

"Pint-sized shitbird," Rocco went on. "Of course, I let him think we were buddies. Steve said to do that."

A second voice came. A little hoarse, and female. Ashley. "Steve told you to make friends with Franklin?" she asked.

"Uh-huh, so that he'd think he was winning. But Steve's always one step ahead." He paused to take a drink. "You know, for a trust fund rat, he's surprisingly cool."

Ashley made a noise of disgust. "But he's still a Preppie. You know what Johnny says about Preppies--"

"Johnny don't gotta know," Rocco interrupted. "He don't have to know anything about me and Haines's...  _partnership_. He can't know."

"Why are you doing it?" Ashley said. "If you've been workin' with Steve all along, how could he let you thrash Harrington House like that?"

"He wasn't too happy about that part," Rocco confessed. "But he said it was necessary. We had to trick the kid into thinkin' I was on his side, didn't we?"

"Yeah, but--"

"Don't worry, babe, I know what I'm doin'," said Rocco. "I helped Steve get Clinton kicked out, I helped him out that cocksucker Townley, now all I gotta do is help him take over the rest of the school and he's gonna hold up his end of the deal."

"Which is?"

Rocco sneered. "No offence, Ash, but your boyfriend can't run the Greasers to save his life. He's slippin', people ain't so scared of him anymore now that he's got his head in the clouds and a pipe in his mouth."

Ashley snapped, "Johnny's a great leader!"

"He was. But _now?_  " Rocco snorted. "He's a fucking mess. I help Steve with this one last thing? He's gonna get rid of Johnny, just like he did with Clinton, and I'm gonna become the new leader. All of you are gonna listen to _me_. When I was a freshman, the Greasers  _ruled_ this place, baby. Now, it's the fuckin' Nerds and Jocks? Fuck that! It's time we put ourselves back at the top of the food chain, where we belong."

Ashley groaned. "You're crazy, honey."

"Yeah, maybe, but at least then we can be together." There was an awful sucking sound, and when Franklin raised his head, he was partially relieved -- but grossed out more than anything -- to find Rocco and Ashley distracted. 

Time to hurry up.

They reached the place where the wall turned ninety degrees and continued to run up the other side of the garage. Franklin narrowed his eyes and looked hard ahead. He could see the side door, hanging half open like Johnny was expecting them. They were nearly there. He glanced back at Lamar and Michael, who nodded back. Franklin moved into a crawling position and went slow, flinching whenever rock or piece of sharp gravel scratched his knees and arms. He froze when he heard Rocco's shoes scrape the ground. Heart hammering, Franklin peeked over the rim of the wall and saw, to his relief, Rocco had only moved to a more comfortable position, arms around Ashley and kissing her hard against the wall of the garage. 

The side door beckoned them. 

Franklin went in first, followed by Lamar, then Michael. The breath that Lamar released when Franklin shut the door behind them was shaky.

"Fuck," Lamar whispered. "Rocco, that fuckin' mook. He sold you out, F!"

"I know that now," Franklin could feel his blood boiling. "But don't worry, we'll get him."

"And he was the one who helped Steve put up those posters," said Michael. "Kid, I don't know about you, but when this is all over for them, I'd like to deliver the first punch."

"We still have to find Johnny," Franklin said quietly. "Come on."

The side door had taken them into the Shop classroom. It seemed creepy like this, all the lights off, the desks unoccupied and the board rubbed clean. Franklin stayed crouched at the front as they moved, a part of him waiting for the door behind them to be ripped open, and for Rocco to come barrelling through with rage in his eyes.

But that didn't happen. The room stayed silent and still. Franklin made it to the classroom door at the top of the room and turned the creaky old knob as gently as he could. It opened with a click. 

Michael whistled low at the back of the group. Franklin turned to see him pull a quart of whiskey from underneath the teacher's desk. 

"Jesus," Michael said, examining it. "I guess we know how Mr. Yetarian makes it through Monday mornings."

The classroom door brought them out into a narrow white hallway containing several oily, graffiti-stained lockers and shelves. This was where the Shop students left the tools and equipment. Jerry cans of gasoline sat in a neat row at the end of the lockers.

"I wonder if this is where Steve swiped that can for the fire," Lamar mused aloud.

"Probably," Franklin replied. He counted. "Fuck, you're right, homie. There's usually six, there's only five here."

"If Mr. Yetarian had noticed, this might have been over a lot quicker," Michael suggested. "But he's too drunk half of the time to notice stuff goin' missing. That's diabolical on Steve's part."

As they neared the top of the hallway, Franklin heard voices. He froze, waiting. There was another classroom at the end of the hall and to the right, mostly used for freshman and after-school Shop projects. Franklin sniffed the air experimentally. His nostrils filled with smoke.

"Johnny's up ahead," he told the others. "But I don't think he's alone."

"I'd be surprised if he were," Michael said. "Still, the important thing is that Rocco's outside, and not with him. We should hurry, kid."

Franklin stood up. The others followed. He didn't want to hide any more. He started walking, his footsteps squeaking against the linoleum, sounding so deafening amongst all the silence. As they got closer to the classroom, the voices got louder. There was at least three of them inside, Johnny included. Franklin could hear him grumbling. He paused at the door knob. He could hear three small thuds on the other side, the same three thuds after the same amount of time. Somebody was playing darts. The Greasers were definitely inside. 

"Y'all ready?" Franklin murmured.

"No," Lamar breathed, but nodded nonetheless.

Franklin opened the door. 

The first person he saw was Johnny, sitting on a scratched-up wooden desk with a beer in his hand. 

"--Hard to know," he was saying, addressing two other Greasers, one bony and thin, the other stout and portly. "They've been good all season, but when have the Bullhorns ever--"

He stopped mid-sentence. 

His face didn't look at all like he wanted to see them. 

Franklin stepped forward. "Johnny? We need to talk to you."

Johnny's face was growing uncomfortably red, uncomfortably fast. His hand tightened suddenly around his beer. " _Clinton--_ "

"It's about Ashley."

Johnny made an outraged noise. He slid off the desk and took a measured step forward. "Don't you talk about my girl," he hissed. "You're not welcome here, dorm-burner. Not welcome here at all."

His hand moved to his pocket. He removed a switch-blade. The pad of his finger moved to the side of it, he struck it, and the blade popped up, metallic and angry. 

Michael automatically clamped a hand down on Franklin's shoulder and pulled him back, but Franklin stood his ground. He met Johnny's enraged stare head-on. "Put the knife away, dog," he said calmly, "We didn't come here for any trouble."

"Oh yeah?" Oscar Guzman called out to him from over by the dartboard. "So why are you here,  _pendejo_? You must be real stupid."

"We need to talk to you," Franklin said again, doing his best to remain strong and tall but at the same time, feeling a greasy twist in the pit of his stomach. "We need your help."

"My help?" Johnny laughed, but there was no humour in it. "You've got some nerve, asshole. Weren't you expelled?"

"Put the blade away, Klebitz," Michael said suddenly, "This ain't how this is gonna go." To Franklin's surprise, Johnny's face crumples all-sour, and he takes a reluctant step back. But the knife stays clutched in his hand. Michael swallowed. "You're gonna listen to the kid, and you're gonna forget about cliques and divisions for a second. Because we both got the same enemy here." Michael raised his eyebrows. "Steve Haines."

"Steve Haines?" Johnny repeated, scowling, but he was lowering the knife. Just a little. "What did he do to you?"

"Steve was the one who burned down the boys dorm," Franklin told him sincerely. "And I got all the proof in the world about it, dog."

Another Greaser, the short, round one, scoffed. "He's all talk, Johnny."

"Shut up, Clay," Johnny snapped. His eyes were boring into Franklin. "I wanna hear what he has to say."

Franklin looked straight back. "Steve's trying to take over the school," he said. "He's been playing everybody since the start. He's even got one of your own in on it." 

Johnny frowned. "Who?"

"Rocco."

There was a silence. Johnny's face flushed an angry red. " _Rocco?_ " he snarled. "You better watch your mouth, kid. He's like a brother to me. He'd never betray me like that." 

"He would and he did. He's been working with Steve all along." 

"This kid's full of shit, Johnny!" The same guy, Clay, exclaimed. "Cut him!"

Johnny moved forward suddenly, sending Franklin's heart into his stomach. Lamar and Michael went to step in front of him but before they could, Johnny had stopped in place, and he'd put away the switch-blade. He was right in Franklin's face, his eyes bloodshot and his lips swollen, breath stinking of smoke. "Tell me what you know," he demanded.

"He was just talking outside," Franklin said, slightly breathless. "Steve told him that if he helped him take this place over, then he was going to get rid of you and Rocco could be the new leader of the Greasers."

"Bullshit," Johnny said, but there was no real heart in it. He actually looked uncertain. "I'm... Rocco would never... there's no getting rid of  _me._ " His voice became fierce. "Only way I'm leavin' these guys is in a box."

"Rocco was talkin' all kinds of shit about you, dog," said Lamar. "He said you don't have it in you any more."

"But that's not all," Franklin added. He reached inside the pocket of his hoodie and his fingers found paper. Johnny glanced down at the sound of the rustle. Franklin braced himself. "He's been doing some other fucked-up shit too, man."

He took out the pictures, and he gave them to Johnny.

Silence.

Then, an explosion.

"What the  _fuck_ is this?" Johnny threw the photos of Ashley and Rocco onto the ground. "Huh? What the fuck is it? Tell me!"

Franklin held his hands up. The other Greasers had flinched away. "It is what it is," he said. "Rocco's been fucking you over behind your back."

"This is--she--" Johnny brought his hands up to his now-purple face. He raked his nails down his cheeks and let loose a ferocious, pained howl. "That fuckin'...I  _knew_ it! I fucking knew it! That weasel, that prick, that MOTHERFUCKER, he's  _dead_! He's fucking dead--"

The other Greasers had started to come forward, to bend low and see for themselves what had made their leader fly off the handle. Franklin watched as they saw the photographs, he witnessed the color drain from their faces. He saw fists clench, he heard gasps of horror and rage. 

He was getting there. Slowly, they were coming over to his side. 

"I'm going to kill him!" Johnny was moving around the room like a hurricane, knocking tables over and throwing chairs. The switchblade came back out, glinting harsh underneath the lights. "He thinks he can outsmart  _me?_ I made that fucker, do you hear me? I  _made_ him. He was  _nobody_ before he started running with me. And this is what he does to repay me? He fucks  _my girl_?"

"Steve's responsible for all of the shit that's been goin' on around here lately, dog," Franklin said, "and now, your boy is workin' with him. We need to trick Steve in the same way he's tricked us. We need to make him think that he has people on his side. So you can't let Rocco know that you know yet."

Johnny stopped. His eyes blazed. " _Excuse me_? How the fuck am I supposed to keep this inside me? Next time I see him, I'm going to want to rip his throat out!"

"You do that, and you'll have a serious shitstorm raining down around you, dog," Franklin replied. "And as well as that? Steve will win."

Johnny growled, but didn't say anything. He also put the switchblade away. 

"We need you to keep Rocco thinkin' that he's safe," Franklin went on. "It'll only be for a little while, homie, I promise you that. But Steve needs to be taken care of for the shit he's done."

Johnny was breathing hard. "And then?"

"We'll let you know when we need you. We need all the help we can get on this one, man."

Johnny looked around. His friends were all staring back at him, their faces mirroring each other. Shock and surprise and curiosity, it was all there reflected on their faces. One by one, they all nodded at him. They nodded their acceptance, their submission, their permission. 

Johnny turned back to Franklin. The seething, murderous fury was unmistakable in his expression, but it seemed to be controlled now. Franklin felt a flicker of hope. 

Johnny said nothing. And then, slowly, he stepped forward.

He held out his hand.

Franklin shook it.

Johnny's grip was strong and determined. He took a few steps back, and like disciples following their leader, the rest of the Greasers came forward and also shook Franklin's hand. Then they moved onto Lamar, onto Michael, and finally went back to stand next to Johnny like a private army. Shoulder-to-shoulder, tall and intimidating, Franklin felt glad to have them.

"We'll get him," said Johnny. "We'll get him, and we'll take him down so hard that the bastard will be begging for his mommy by the time we're through with him."

Franklin smiled. "Thank you, dog." 

"Now get outta here," Johnny said, turning away. "We might be accomplices now, but we sure as shit ain't friends. Not yet."

"Wait," Franklin said, a thought coming to the centre of his mind and begging for acknowledgement. "There's just one more thing."

Johnny glanced over his shoulder, his thick eyebrows scrunched together. "Don't push your luck, Franklin."

"There's something else," Franklin explained, feeling Lamar and Michael's eyes hot on him. "You took something from Harrington House, and I need it back."

One of the Greasers snorted. "We took a lot of shit from Harrington House, pipsqueak, you'll have to do better than that."

"A watch." Franklin told them. "You took a watch from Dorm three-zero-nine and I'd like it back."

Johnny squared his shoulders. "But it ain't yours."

"No, but it belongs to a friend of mine."

"You're  _friends_ with a Preppie?" another Greaser mocked. "Fuck, and you're sure that we can trust you?"

"This guy's not like the others. And he'll only help us if I can get this watch back to him."

Johnny's head was nodding. "You got a man on the inside," he said. He sniffed. "That's smart.

There was a few moments of quiet, of apprehension, when Johnny glanced to his right at Oscar Guzman and said, "You. Give the kid back the watch."

Oscar's shoulders sank, but nonetheless, he rolled up the sleeve of his jacket. An old but beautiful gold watch sat on his wrist. He undid the clasp, and handed it back to Franklin.

"Thank you," Franklin put in his pocket. "I'm serious about this, dog. We're going to win."

Johnny's smile was brief, but determined. "You bet your ass."

Franklin opened the door behind him, nodded at Lamar and Franklin, and led them out of the room.

The door closed with a snap, leaving them in the darkened hallway, swallowed up by the shadows and the silence.

"Well," Lamar blinked. 

Michael was pale. "That was..."

Lamar raised a hand. "Did anybody else shit their drawers?"

 

* * *

 

 

Daylight came. The next day, the sun was solid and bright, and the snow was beginning to melt. Franklin was glad to see it go.

The ground was slush underneath his shoes as he trudged across the campus towards the library. He could see that February was coming, the signs of it clear in the tiny, regrowing buds on the trees, the taste of spring and freshness in the air. Above his head, the clouds were breaking through, the light promising better things. Franklin could only hope.

Lamar had gone to the library earlier that morning, and from there had sent him a text message telling him of a certain someone's whereabouts. As Franklin approached the library doors, he began to feel a sense of panic that he wouldn't be allowed in. Expelled students hardly got library privileges. 

But he needn't have worried, because almost on cue, the doors opened and Dom came out and down the slippery stone steps, two textbooks tucked underneath his arm. Franklin was glad to see him.

"Dom!"

He looked up, his face open and warm as it always had been, and then immediately upon seeing it was Franklin, his expression bolted shut like a door. But at least he stopped. "Franklin," he said coldly. "Look, bro, I have to get to class--"

"I got you something, dog." Franklin slipped a hand inside his pants pocket. The watch gleamed underneath the sunshine.

Dom stared at him wordlessly. 

"I got it back for you," Franklin said, pasting a nervous smile across his face. "I know it won't fix everything, but I swear, man, I am so sorry for what happened. It was fucked up."

Dom nodded. "Yeah, it was."

Franklin sighed. "You did a lot for me, man, and all I did in return was fuck up your life. I'm real sorry about that."

Dom took the watch from him and slipped it back onto his wrist. He looked back at Franklin. "Are you still going after Steve?" he asked.

"Yeah. And I could sure as shit use your help."

"Lemme guess," said Dom dryly, "you want me to convince the Preppies what good a guy you are, right?"

Franklin smiled softly. "No, man. You don't have to do that. I just want you with us when we take Steve down, 'cos you deserve to kick his ass as much as the next guy."

Dom paused. The wind whistled past their heads, blowing the snow away in dust, shivering the leaves. Dom stared down at his shoes. Franklin could see the cogs turning, see the thoughts going on in the wrinkle in between his eyebrows, in the way he was biting his lip.

Dom glanced up. "Fine," he said, "but on one condition."

"Anything, homie."

"This is gonna be some serious ninja shit, right?" Dom said. He smiled when Franklin nodded. "Good. In that case...you gotta call me The Dominator." 

Franklin snorted. "For real?"

"All or nothing."

Franklin grinned, because Dom was back, and everything was, for at least that moment in time, all right. "For sho', Dominator. Good to have you back on board."

"You know it homie!" Dom's face burst into a wide grin and he held a hand up for a high-five. "Beasley and Clinton back at it, kicking ass and taking names!"

"Beasley and Clinton?"

Dom shrugged. "It could be a thing. Like...ooh! _Rush Hour_! You could be Jackie Chan, and I could be Chris Tucker!"

"Is that a movie?"

"Honestly, it's more like a religious experience."

"Uh, okay, shit." Franklin laughed. "Sounds good to me, homie."

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the pitiful length of this chapter, but it's a stepping stone to the finale and things are progressing as I want them to. Thanks for being so patient - it's been a busy couple weeks and it's not really going to ease up for a while - it turns out I passed my exams and am now college bound! Until things settle down, updates will be rather slow, but as this story is wrapping up shortly, it shouldn't be too bad. :D
> 
> Thank you, as always, for your amazing feedback. You kick serious ass and Trevor would be in awe of you. 
> 
> Until next time, let me know what you thought of this one!


	23. The Meeting

 

As the weeks passed, January melted into February and the snow gave way to welcome the first buds of spring time. Franklin was glad to see the ground underneath his feet again, instead of the same white, snowy slush, and silently thanked God that, for the first time in a long time, he could now descend the steps outside the boys dormitory without fear of slipping on the ice and breaking his neck. The air seemed fresher somehow; holding something soft and secretive, a gentle kind of hope that only Franklin could sense. They said that spring always brought a fresh start, a clean slate. Franklin was holding his breath, willing that to be true for him.

The tangible misery of being back at Bullworth after the long, relaxing Christmas break had also given way to allow for a buzzing excitement for Valentines Day weekend. The art department once again did what they did best: smothered everything in glitter, and swept through the school in a wave of pinks and reds. The school building was plastered with posters of lovers and wistful birds mid-flight. Cut-out paper hearts adorned the classrooms and Valentines Day cards were shyly passed between hands in every classroom. Girls passed by with sappy smiles on their faces while boys tugged at their sweaty collars and bragged about the unrealistic number of cards that had been shoved into their hands. Even Franklin, who's only mixing with the opposite sex had been Tess, was baffled when he awoke the morning of Valentines Day and found a handful of cards had been pushed underneath his door.

Lamar, of course, found that hilarious.

"I had no idea you were some kind of five foot two sex machine," Lamar sniggered, flipping through the cards in his hands. "You sure do have a lot of girlfriends." The two of them were walking towards the football field underneath a black, starless night sky, and Lamar had insisted on taking Franklin's cards to investigate them along the way.

Franklin was less amused. "Fuck you, dog. They're all anonymous. I don't know who sent them."

"It's funny, homie, the only girl I ever saw you talkin' to was Tess. And Tess isn't the type to doodle love hearts." Lamar said. "For all I know, you could have sent these to _yourself_ to make me think I got some kind of competition."

Franklin couldn't help but laugh. "Oh yeah? And how many cards did you get, Romeo?"

"That is neither here nor there. I don't need a dumb card to know that I'm drivin' bitches crazy across this school."

"Yeah," Franklin smirked, "I can see they really flock to you, L."

"Shit, this one ain't anonymous," Lamar held open one card, a hugely extravagent card with flashing lights on the front, covered in glittery pink hearts. Lamar cleared his throat and read aloud, " _Franklin, I really felt like we had a connection. I could make you very happy. Call me. Love, Maude_."

"Oh my God," said Franklin. He hadn't even read that one.

Lamar burst out laughing. "Oh man! Who the fuck is is _Maude?_ "

"Gimme those," Franklin flushed and grabbed the cards from Lamar's hands. He stuffed them back into his bag and was relieved when the sight of the football field rose up ahead of them. The clubhouse was a silent, cold shadow, rising up to greet them and beckon them in. The blinds in the tiny, square windows had been pulled down and closed, but some soft light poked through.

Franklin swallowed and quickened his pace. They were late.

Lamar wiped his eyes, still laughing. "She sounds like a charmer, homie."

Franklin frowned at him. "Keep your head on what's about to go down, dog." His eyes fell on the clubhouse. "Some shit could go down in here if we're not careful."

Lamar followed him down the bleachers, their feet beating against the cold, wooden planks. "Run this by me again, homie," he said, "What's about to happen?"

"I've called a meeting," said Franklin. "We gotta figure out what to do about Steve, and the only way we can do that is if everybody gets together to talk about it."

"Shit," said Lamar. "So that means every motherfuckin' clique leader, aside from Steve of course, is gonna be packed into that tight, cold clubhouse?"

"Uh-huh."

"The clique leaders who, for the most part, can't _stand_ each other, are _all_ gonna be in there, shakin' like timebombs and trying very, very fuckin' hard to not beat the shit out of each other?"

"Um, yeah."

Lamar raised his eyebrows. "I'm not sure you thought this through, homie."

"Relax, L. All we gotta do is keep our heads on what we have to do. The clique leaders can bicker all they fuckin' want, but at the end of the day, they all wanna take down Steve. We gotta work together on this."

"Hey Frank, when this is all over? Run for President."

"Yeah-yeah."

As they reached the front door, they could hear angry, raised voices coming from the clubhouse. Franklin and Lamar looked at each other. The two voices, both of them shouting, were terribly familiar.

" _Fuck_ ," Lamar hissed, his hand flying out to push Franklin forward, "Sounds like you better get in there, homie."

Franklin burst through the door frantically, just as a hockey stick was hurled across the room. It connected with the stone wall and cracked, the wood splintering into tiny pieces. The smelly, tiny locker room was packed with people and for a second, Franklin couldn't make out what was happening. He pushed through gaps in the crowd, shoulders hitting his face as he went, hands clasping at nothing. There was another enormous crack as a second hockey stick was sent flying, again failing to hit its target. The shouting was overwhelming.

Franklin felt his gut fall. The meeting hadn't even started, and already, there was a brawl.

Suddenly, his eyes fell on Michael, hands shielding his head, standing just beside where the second hockey stick had struck the wall and broken. On the other side of the room, his aggressor was already picking up another one. The faces of the crowd were pale and grim.

" _Trevor!_ " Michael roared, his face flushed. "Calm the _fuck_ down!"

"Oh, I'm calm, Mikey!" came the answering scream. "I'm so _calm_ , in fact, that I'll have no problem _shoving this fucking hockey stick up your ass!_ "

" _Hey!_ " Franklin found an opening in the crowd and pushed through it to reach Trevor. He grabbed the older's boy arm, and gave it a rough shake so that Trevor dropped the hockey stick. "Trevor, what the fuck do you think you're doing?"

"You told me that _he_ wasn't going to be here!" Trevor snarled, yanking his arm from Franklin's grasp.

"Oh yeah?" Michael yelled back. "Well, he told me that _you_ weren't going to be here, either!"

"How else was I supposed to get both of you motherfuckers in the same room?!" Franklin snapped. He caught his breath, and turned to face Trevor. "We're not here to fight each other, man, we're here to talk about Steve Haines."

Johnny cleared his throat. He was leaning against the back wall with his buddies. "Hey kid," he said, his eyes darting with some nervousness towards Trevor's ferocious, panting frame, "I'm not talking shit until that psychopath chills out."

"I'm afraid I have to agree with Klebitz," Lester piped up. He sat on one of the benches with his laptop on his knees. "This computer is rather expensive, and the thought of Trevor throwing it at Michael's head isn't very appealing."

"Fuck your fancy computer," Trevor said, "I'll throw _you_ at the wall, you four-eyed fuck!"

"Your beef is with me," Michael shouted at him. "We'll talk this out, T, but for Christ sakes, you have to calm down--"

"Talk it out?" Trevor's laugh was hysterical and not at all humorous. "Sure, let's talk it out! Let's _talk_ about how much of a fat, lying snake you are, Townley. Let's _talk_ about how I never want to see your fucking face again! Let's--"

Franklin was done. Before he fully grasped what he was doing, his hands had flung out in front of him and shoved Trevor backwards. Trevor stumbled, his face coated in shock, his back hitting the wall with a thud.

The silence that fell over the room was deafening. Everybody watched, everybody waited. But especially Trevor. Trevor was staring at Franklin with a mixture of fury and respect.

"Trevor," said Franklin slowly, "You don't gotta stay here if you don't want to, and I understand if you want to go, but I told you on the phone that that we need you. _I_ need you, dog. I can't do this without you." He looked back at Michael. "You two gotta leave it at the door, man. You don't have to talk to each other, but don't scream at each other either."

Trevor bared his teeth. "You know what he _did_ ," he growled. "How the fuck am I supposed to just put that aside?"

"We all got the same goal here," said Franklin. "We do this and we don't ever have to talk to each other again. We can part ways. But, for the next little while, you gotta put aside how you feel about Michael. You just have to, T."

Trevor's fists clenched. "This whole thing is a lot more fucking trouble than it's worth," he said angrily, but he took a step back.

Franklin turned to face Michael. "Are we cool?"

Michael glanced down at the broken hockey sticks, lying at his feet. "Fine," he mumbled. "We're fine."

Franklin nodded. Slowly, feeling every pair of eyes firmly fixed on him, he moved to the top of the room. He stopped and turned around.

He was surprised at how many had actually came. The decision to hold this meeting had been a last-minute thing, and getting word out about it had been rushed and incredibly short-notice. Trevor was the biggest surprise. Franklin had called him earlier and listened to Trevor's half-assed, reluctant reply, and had hung up knowing that the townie probably wasn't going to come. Yet here he was, looking worse than Franklin had ever seen him. It was unnerving, and also kind of sad. The dark circles underneath Trevor's ferocious eyes made his face seem thinner, his cheekbones more gaunt. He had sores on his skin, itchy wounds that he kept attacking with his bitten fingernails.

Michael wasn't looking at him. Maybe he couldn't look at him. The jock's eyes were fixed on the concrete floor, and like Trevor, he looked different too. Older, somehow, much older than his eighteen years. His letterman hung looser around his broad shoulders, and there was a certain grimace in his expression. Something sad, dark and permanent.

Franklin cleared his throat awkwardly, and looked around. "So, uh, thanks for coming, everyone."

He could see every clique. He saw Lamar sinking down beside Lester and Rickie, and next to them, Franklin smiled and nodded at Dom, who looked deeply uncomfortable but nonetheless determined. He'd brought a few other Preppies, all of them standing with disgusted expressions, trying to stand as far away from the other students as possible. But it was good to see that Dom was right - the Preppies weren't on Steve's side. Steve had pissed them off too long ago, and too much.

Michael had come alone, but Franklin wasn't worried. The other Jocks would still listen to him, still follow his orders like loyal soldiers because that was the structure of this school. People were scared now, shaken by how much power Steve actually had. It was the basic rule of Bullworth, one of the first rules that Franklin had come across here. Get too powerful, get too out of your expected place, and people immidiately wanted you gone.

There was a clear and very purposeful gap between the Preppies and the Greasers, who couldn't have looked more different, or more uncomfortable with each other. Johnny was, as always, a pillar of intimidation and barely-concealed rage. Rocco was absent, of course, and Franklin couldn't help but wonder how Johnny had managed to shake off his eager puppy in order to sneak over here. He'd brought Oscar and another Greaser kid called Andreas, a surly-looking but otherwise quiet guy from Franklin's English class.

Then, it all came back full-circle, ending with Trevor, who'd brought along his twitchy friend, Ron, and the childlike Wade.

Franklin was, honestly, kind of blown away. Looking around, he saw a pretty good team in front of him. A dangerous mixture of brains and brawn. Maybe, just maybe, they could pull this off and walk away from it relatively unscathed.

"We all got the same goal here," Franklin went on. His voice sounded too loud and echoey. "We want to see Steve Haines pay for the shit he's done. He's fucked over his own group," he stopped to nod at the Preppies, "pissed off other ones," he nodded at Johnny, "and basically just been a conniving, lying and overall piece of psycho-shit."

Johnny was nodding enthusiastically, clenching his fists in a way that was borderline psychotic.

Franklin cleared his throat again. "He set the boys dorm on fire, framed me for it, and got me expelled," he said. "More recently, he publically humiliated my friend Michael.”

Michael flushed and looked away, as several whispers bubbled up from the crowd.

"It's time that Steve got what he deserves," Franklin told them, "and we gotta be the ones to do it. All of us. We're stronger together. Weston can't expell all of us, even if he is under Steve's fuckin' thumb. He'll listen if we expose Steve for what he is: a fucked up, arrogant prick."

"Amen!" Trevor cried.

"I know that not everybody in here is exactly the best of friends," Franklin continued, "and I'm not asking you to be. But like I said before, we gotta work together, or we won't work at all. Leave your cliques at the door. Be individual fuckin' people, not groups. Keep it cool in here. If we all band together, we can--"

" _Wahhhh!_ "

Franklin stopped at the sudden sound of the shrill wail. The crowd looked wildly around for the source of the screaming, and before long, all eyes had landed on Michael, who had gone red again, and was cradling something small and wrapped in blankets.

"Mike?" Franklin said dubiously, straining to see in the dim light. "Is that a fucking _baby?_ "

"It's a baby simulator," Michael said, sounding embarrassed. "Weston gave it to me and Amanda to... you know, practice? We gotta take care of it for a few days. I had to bring it with me."

He started to rub the thing's back, and before long, tiny mechanical burps filled the room.

Trevor grunted. Franklin sent him a warning look.

Poppy, one of the Preppie girls, had her nose wrinkled in disgust as she peered at the fake baby in Michael's arms. "It's _creepy_ ," she said.

Michael glared at her. " _He_ is not creepy, thank you sweetheart." He poked the stomach of the baby. "You're awesome, ain't you, Joe Montana?"

Trevor actually and literally laughed. But when Franklin looked at him, he saw the pain in his expression, barely distinguishable, but there. It looked like someone was tearing his heart out right in front of him.

"Joe Montana?" Franklin asked.

Michael nodded. "Only the best quarterback of all time."

Franklin felt awkward. "Uh, do you need to go outside or...?"

"Nah, he just needed to be burped. He's fine now. Uh, go ahead, kid."

Franklin turned back to the crowd and swallowed. "Um, so anyway..."

Trevor cut him off. "Just let me know where to find Haines, and I'll rip his throat out. There don't got to be a meeting."

"The aim is to _not_ kill anyone, T," Franklin frowned. "We want to get Steve expelled."

"How?" Johnny piped up. "Weston is so far up Steve's ass, he's practically the prick's Adam's apple. How the fuck can we get a little shit like that expelled?"

“It’s easier than it seems,” Franklin shot back. He looked at Lester. “We get evidence.”

Lester went pink, his voice bathed in anxiety as he stood up slow on his wobbling legs and addressed the crowd. “I can…uh, keep tabs on Haines." He nudged his glasses up his nose. "If we know this location at all times, it should prove invaluable to our, uh, mission."

"But what actually _is_ the fucking mission?" Johnny asked impatiently. "Clinton, cut to the chase here. What do you need me to do?"

Franklin paused. "We need Steve to admit what he did in front of Weston, _and_ on camera."

Johnny snorted. "Fuck, you'd have better luck getting Philips to take a bath."

Trevor snarled. "Say that _again_ , cowboy."

"I need to rile Steve up," Franklin told the crowd. "If he thinks we're alone, he'll be cocky. He'll brag about all the shit he pulled. When he does, we need to somehow get Weston to hear him."

Lester moved awkwardly to where Franklin was standing, and pulled a cork board on wheels out from the shadows.

"This is going to take some time," Lester explained. "We have to wait until Steve feels safe again. He thinks Franklin is out of the picture now, but he's not stupid. He'll be expecting a retaliation. That's why we have to wait."

"And until then?" Johnny snapped. "We just sit around with our thumbs up our asses?"

Michael scowled at him from across the room. "Shut up, Klebitz. Franklin knows what he's doing."

Johnny balled up his fist and punched the palm of his other hand. "Rocco is _working_ with that trust fund rat! You expect me to just play along with that until Haines feels _safe?_ "

"We only get one shot at this," Franklin said. "You gotta keep it under control, dog. You can't let Rocco know that you know what's going on with him and Steve."

Johnny growled, but didn't answer. He shrank back against the wall and crossed his burly arms, sulking like a child.

"When the time comes," Franklin went on, "My boy Dom is gonna lure Steve down to where this shit all began. The football field."

Dom nodded eagerly. "You can count on me, bro."

"I'm gonna be there when he does," said Franklin. "I'm gonna rile the dude up, make him start talkin' about the fire. Trevor, Michael," Franklin looked at both of them hopefully, "I'd appreciate if you were somewhere nearby, making sure I don't get my ass beat instead."

Michael nodded. "Of course."

"He could bring Rocco," Lester added. "That's why Franklin needs some muscle."

"You want _them_ for protection?" Johnny was appalled. "What the fuck are you asking Jockstrap and Canuck for? _I'll_ watch your ass, Clinton."

"I need you and your guys to get Weston down to the football field," Franklin said, shaking his head. "You're gonna pull some kind of distraction, start fightin' each other or some shit. Make him chase you down to the football field." He took a breath and glanced at Lamar. "Then--"

Lamar stood up. " _Then_ , it's Phase Two motherfuckers!" He marched up to the cork board and gestured eagerly to a photograph Lester had pinned up of the football field. He pointed to the huge score screens that hung on opposite sides of the field. "Weston comes down the steps, Franklin gets Steve to admit what he did, and right fuckin' then, Rickie and I put a camera on him and project that shit _all_ over. The football field, the fuckin' hallway screens, everywhere."

"I can hack into the school terminals," Lester added. "Then, it's just a case of passing the footage around. Lamar really outdid himself, he made a microscopic camera that we can pin to Franklin's shirt."

Franklin looked around and saw the faces staring back at him now no longer looked nervous or impatient, but instead, impressed. He took a deep breath, trying to slow down his heartbeat.

"That's the plan," he said. "When it's all gonna go down, we'll get word out to you. Until then, y'all just gotta avoid Steve, and keep this shit to yourselves."

"Is that it?" Trevor said impatiently, his eyes darting from Michael to the robot baby as if he couldn't wait to get out of there. "Can we fuckin' go now?"

Franklin looked at Lester, and recieved a nod in return. He turned back to the crowd. "Yeah, get out of here. Thanks for coming."

Murmurs of excitement and wonder and some whispered doubts spread through the departing crowd like wild fire. Franklin hung back as they all shuffled out, stowing the cork board safely away and making sure there was no Steven Haines lurking somewhere in the shadows. But he did see someone just as unexpected in the shadows, bathed in dim light by the far wall. When they saw Franklin looking, they stepped forward into the light.

Franklin could feel his heart pumping. "Tess?"

She didn't smile. A cigarette burned between her lips. She took it out and blew smoke up in the air. "That's quite the plan," she said.

Franklin felt awkward. He wasn't sure what to do with his hands. Leaving them hanging at his sides made him feel even more awkward, bumbling and flustered. "It's the best we got," he said weakly. "I, uh, I didn't think you'd come."

She shrugged. "I was interested." When she raised her eyes to meet his, she looked upset. "Look, be honest, do you really think that this is going to work?"

Only a few people had stayed behind, the others had gone and the room was quiet. They couldn't hear him. Franklin paused. "It's the best we got," he repeated. "I don't know if it'll work or not."

Tess looked down at her feet. "I'll help with whatever you want me to do," she said, shocking him.

Relief filled him. "Tess," he breathed, stepping towards her. "Tess, I'm so--"

"Hold on there, Newbie," She took a step back, frowning. "I'm not doing it for you. You still lied to me."

He felt cold and alone. He needed her. 

Tess met his gaze steadily. "I'm helping because of Lamar and Michael, Dom, and maybe even the tweaker. Because Steve is a fucking germ and deserves to have his lies broadcast across the whole school. But I'm _not_ doing it for you. Not yet."

Franklin opened his mouth, but he couldn't think of what to say. How was he supposed to tell her how much he needed her, when here she was, not needing him at all.

So he settled instead on a weak smile. "Thank you," he said sincerely. "We'll make all of this all right again."

Tess glanced at the door. The football field stretched out, the springy grass lit by moonlight, dripping in dew. "I should go," she murmured. She didn't turn back until she had reached the door. "Let me know when this thing is going ahead."

The longest second of Franklin's life came, with her just looking at him. Then, she turned and left, following the rest of the crowd back across the field.

 

* * *

 

 

Franklin sank slowly down onto one of the benches, tiredness taking over. He rubbed his sore eyes with his knuckles, wincing at the heavy stench of clubhouse sweat and bleach. He raised his head after a moment and saw that he wasn't alone.

"Rough day, kid?" Michael had remained behind after everyone else. He leaned with one shoulder against the concrete wall, one arm cradling Joe Montana, the other holding the strap of his bag. He was trying to look calm, but Franklin could see how much pain he was in. Trevor was still a fresh, raw wound.

"I'm fine," Franklin said, avoiding Michael's eyes. "It's you that I'm worried about, dog. You look kind of messed up."

"Joe just kept me up last night," Michael shrugged. "And 'cos Davey was in the next bed, it was the icing on the cake. He's still pissed at me over the whole Trevor mess, and now I got this demonic, robotic kid screaming at 2AM."

"You'll be all right, M."

"If you say so. I sure as hell can't get any worse." Michael dropped his bag and sat down on the bench across from Franklin. He must have moved too fast, because Joe's eyes flipped open and mechanical, irritable whimpers started to bubble up from wherever the thing's speakers were.

Michael groaned and bent down to his bag. He pulled out a plastic, fake baby bottle and pressed it gently to Joe's vinyl, unmoving lips.

Franklin smiled a little. "You're not too bad at the whole 'dad' thing, you know."

"Yeah, but this is a _machine_. What do I do when I get the real, flesh-and-blood kid?" Michael shut his eyes. " _Fuck_. It feels like July is comin' all too fast."

"Boy or girl?"

"Amanda wants to keep it a surprise. But the way I see it, whether it's a boy or a girl, it's still gonna hate me."

"That ain't true, Mike." Franklin said fiercely. "I would've loved to have an old man like you, when I was a kid."

Michael didn't look convinced. "You'd want a screwed up, trailer trash kid to be your dad? Right."

"Hey, you'd be better than the old man I did have," Franklin argued. "You don't gotta be the best father of all time for your kid to like you, man. It's gonna love the shit out of you regardless, you and Amanda. My old man left, he didn't even try. And that's why I hated him. You could have left already, dog, but you didn't. You stayed. That means more than you know."

Michael looked down at Joe Montana. His eyes had closed again, and the whimpers had dissolved into soft, contented gurgles. The quiet that drifted over the room was still.

The smallest of smiles teased at the corner of Michael's lips. His thumb stroked Joe's side. "I want to be a good dad," Michael said. "The last thing I want is for this kid to grow up with the kind of dad that I have. I want this kid to know that they have a lot of people that love 'em. I want 'em to feel cared about."

"Then, that's your plan." Franklin told him. "Don't be your dad."

Joe fell silent for a moment, and Michael removed the bottle slowly. He grinned at the sudden sound of snores. "Well, that's him out," said Michael, returning Joe to cradling position. "Until he wakes up in, oh, an hour."

Franklin chuckled. "You got this, dog. Don't worry."

Michael leaned down to the bag again and unzipped it. Franklin couldn't see what he took out, until Michael had got up and crossed the room, and sat down next to him. It looked like a photograph. "Davey's still not talking to me, and Trevor definitely doesn't give a shit," Michael started, "so I didn't have anybody to show this to. But you've been more of a friend to me than anyone, so..."

"What is it, homie?"

"The other day, we went for Amanda's four-month scan." Michael pressed the ultrasound picture into Franklin's palm. "So, there you go. You're the only one other than us who's seen the baby."

It was dark in the room but if Franklin held it up, he could just about make out a gray, solid shape amongst a sea of fuzzy black. He squinted and followed the lines of the tiny being, and all of a sudden he could see the small point of a nose, a round, growing belly, fingers and toes. It was small, but it still made his heart fill with happiness. For Michael _and_ Amanda.

"It looks like a jellybean," Michael said, and Franklin could hear the excitement in his voice. "But I guess it's our jellybean."

"This is fuckin' awesome, dog," said Franklin. "That's it, that's your little dude or little woman." He handed the scan back and smiled at Michael. "You got any names in mind yet?"

"Sort of, nothing definite," Michael replied. "If it's a boy, we were thinkin' of Jonathan, or James. James is my middle name."

"And if it's a girl?"

"Amanda likes Tracey."

"Sounds good to me, man. But are you sure you don't wanna name it Franklin?"

Michael laughed. "I'm sure. About as sure as I am that I'm not gonna name it Trevor."

Franklin scrubbed a hand over his face and chuckled. "I'm gonna be honest, man, I thought you two were gonna rip each other apart before."

"He's all talk," Michael snorted, looking away. "With me, anyway. And fuck him, but I'm the same." His eyes fixed themselves on the ground. "I'd never hurt him," he said softly.

"You kind of did."

"I know, and I don't know how many times I can say I'm sorry. But it is what it is, and Trevor has to grow up sometime." Michael scowled. "He lives in... in fuckin' _fairyland_ , Frank. He thinks that, when the kid is born, me and him can _still_ be together. He's got no idea."

"What if he's right?"

Michael frowned at him. "What?"

Franklin lifted one shoulder. "Now that everybody knows, you don't have to hide it anymore. You don't have to be in a relationship with Amanda to raise a kid with her. I mean, sure it makes it easier, but Amanda's not the kind of girl to not let you see your kid."

Michael paused. After a few moments, he pursed his lips and opened his mouth to say something, but in the end he didn't answer Franklin at all.

"I heard you got some big game coming up," Franklin said, eager to change the subject now that Michael's face had paled slightly.

Michael nodded. "Yeah, three weeks time. If the Bullhorns win, we go through to the semi-finals. That'll be the farthest we've got since... jesus, my sophomore year."

"Did you win that year?"

"No, got knocked out in the semis by the Rockford Rattlesnakes." Michael clenched his fist, looking determined. "But we're gonna do it this year. I got a good feelin', Frank. I'm graduating in May and I want to leave this hellhole with at least _one_ championship under my belt."

Franklin studied Michael's face. There was something else there, something in the way he was jiggling his leg up and down. "What else, dog?"

"Scouts," Michael replied. "NFL scouts are coming to the game next week, to see me play. Coach Quinn called them and they are definitely coming."

"Shit, so that's it then," Franklin said. "Your big dream."

"Hopefully I don't fuck it up. I _need_ to get into college, Franklin."

"You will, man, don't worry about it." Franklin nudged him. "You got this."

"Maybe, now that I don't have Steve Haines breathing down my neck."

Franklin felt a flash of guilt, but Michael laughed and elbowed him. "I'm kidding. I know you just got wrapped up in shit. But I gotta say," Michael stood up and gathered his bag. "It sure will be nice to see that prick get torn down."

Franklin watched him move towards the door, and when he smiled, it was genuine. 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so let's pretend this didn't take a lifetime for me to post. The bad news is that college is kicking my ass, but the good news is that this story just has two chapters left, and then an epilogue. I really, really appreciate you guys' amazing patience and your support. Fucking bless you!
> 
> I've also been seeing some stellar art popping up all over the place - I'd love to put it in the fic! So if anyone wants their art to be in the fic, let me know and it'll go in right away, with your wonderful self credited of course. <3 
> 
> Leave me feedback, I adore you guys. I've gotten way behind in my comment replying but I promise I read every single comment (and get embarrassingly misty over some of them tbh). Thanks for reading, let me know what you thought and I'll see you guys again really soon!! :)


	24. All Fall Down

 

March brought rain. Torrential rain. Rain that seemed to split the steel-wool sky violently apart, and push itself down hard through the atmosphere, a relentlessness beating of bullet-like raindrops. Franklin almost missed the snow. 

The harsh weather wasn't exactly ideal for his living conditions. His lonely, small, expelled-student bedroom was now frequently bathed in a chill. The walls seemed darker, the window looked out onto a miserable, drowned campus and offered him no positivity. He kept the curtains pulled, spending most of his evenings lying on his hard bed, his legs stretched out in front of him, his iPod balanced on his stomach. Lately, he hadn't been able to stop listening to Springsteen. 

This was how Lamar found him, one blustery, rain-sodden Friday evening. 

" _Frank_ ," Lamar burst in through the door, soaked to the skin. His eyes were wild.

Franklin leapt off the bed with a start. "What the fuck? You're drenched, dog!"

Lamar didn't answer, just stepped further across the creaking boards and let the door fall shut behind him. Franklin dashed to grab a towel from the bathroom, which he then proceeded to throw at Lamar's head. "Don't sit down on my bed, dude! I don't want to drown in my sleep!"

Lamar just stared at him. He honestly looked like he'd just gone for a swim in his sweatshirt and jeans. Tiny droplets of water were still trickling down the sides of his face. When he bent down to scoop the towel up off the floor, Franklin noticed that his breathing was shallow, laboured. Like he'd been running. 

Franklin swatted Lamar up off his now considerably damp bedsheets. He made Lamar stand over by the door like a wet dog, where he leaned against the wall, slowly forming a puddle of rain underneath this squelching shoes. 

"Where the hell did you come from just now, homie?" Franklin asked him. He was starting to feel concerned. 

"I was in Principal Weston's office," Lamar panted, carding the towel through his saturated hair. "I was...  _man_ , he..."

"Start makin' some sense, L. You look like you're gonna pass the fuck out."

"To be honest, homie? I think I fuckin' might." A wide smile broke out across Lamar's face, the biggest smile Franklin had ever seen. 

He swallowed. "...Lamar?"

Lamar looked at him. His face, which up until now had been submerged in stress and nervousness and paranoia, now looked completely different. He looked fresher, as crisp as the wind. His smile split his whole face, lighting his eyes up like fireworks. A palpable kind of euphoria was  _radiating_ from him. 

"Franklin," said Lamar slowly, "I got the scholarship."

Franklin's heart jumped, shooting like a rocket up, up, up, until he could feel it pounding in his oesophagus and blazing through his blood, and all of a sudden he was on his feet and his chest was hitting Lamar's, and a laugh bubbles up from within and brightens up the dank room. "Are you SERIOUS? You fuckin'  _genius!_ " He gripped Lamar hard, giving his best friend's back an enthusiastic smack. "That's awesome, homie! Fuck! I'm... shit, dog, really?"

"Weston said he's never seen a bitch at Bullworth get as _tight_  a GPA as I did," Lamar stepped back, grinning even wider now.

Franklin snorted. "Those were his exact words?"

"Nah, but that's what I heard."

Franklin laughed again, not even caring that his own clothes were wet now from hugging Lamar. He felt so  _proud_. He'd never doubted Lamar's ability to get his scholarship, but now that the guy had actually gone and done it... it was a happiness Franklin couldn't even comprehend. This must have been what it was like to have a brother, to root for somebody, to want more for somebody else than you even wanted for yourself. Franklin was so overcome with pride, it almost bowled him over. 

"Now all we gotta do is get you un-expelled, homie," Lamar said enthusiastically, "and then, it's me and you  _rollin'_ through Bullworth again, kicking ass and takin'  _names_ , dog!"

"Did you tell your mom yet?"

"Not yet. I just came straight from Weston's office." Lamar stopped, his smile widening. "Actually, that ain't true. I  _might_ have danced like a crazy fool in the rain before I came here."

Franklin burst out laughing. "That's why you're turning my room into a damn lake, huh?" He moved over to the closet, searching for a dry hoodie for himself. "So what next, L?" he asked over his shoulder. "You wanna head into town? Celebrate?"

"Ain't you going to the game, Frank?"

Franklin had almost forgotten. Of course, the football game. The Bullhorns, taking on the Rockford Rattlesnakes down on the football field. All week, the posters had been going up, the Jocks had been shouting about it on campus, drumming up support, and Coach Quinn had been shrieking even more than usual during football practice.

Franklin wasn't really in the mood to sit on an ice-cold, damp bench and watch the Bullhorns inevitably get their butts beat, but he knew he had to go and support Michael. He was adamant about not losing this time, after what he'd told Franklin had been a four-year losing streak against the Rattlesnakes. He said that, every March, the Bullhorns got this far, and were always soundly obliterated by the opposing team. " _This year is gonna be different_ ," Michael had said. " _This year, I'm the quarterback. We're going to get to that championship game._ "

"Well, I'm going," Lamar declared. "You can stay here in this depressing-ass room all by yourself."

Franklin threw a shoe at him. "Fuck you, I'm coming." 

"You know, I got a feelin' about this one," Lamar wandered towards the door, grinning from ear to ear. "Things are looking up, homie!"

 

* * *

 

 

The rain had let up a little by the time Franklin and Lamar had reached the football field. The place was  _mobbed_. All Franklin could see was blue-and-white jerseys, flags and banners, stretched out like one, giant Bullhorn-themed river, seemingly going on for miles. Lamar led the way down the slippery steps, weaving through the jostling, buzzing crowd to their usual seats in the middle row of the front bleachers.

The noise was overwhelming. The band played loud and energetically down on the grass, and the crowd were actually on their feet, nodding their heads and arms and chanting for their team. They were a drum, unyielding and strong, their voices unified as one. This was, even to the inexperienced eye, a very important game. It looked like the whole school was here. 

Franklin and Lamar sat on their jackets. Franklin could feel the sound reverberating through the floor underneath. 

"Man, this is _tight_!" Lamar shouted. "I'm gonna go grab us some drinks. You good here?"

"Yeah, I’m good. See you in a minute." Franklin shifted over in his place to give Lamar room to get out. 

Franklin surveyed his surroundings curiously. The raindrops were visible through the enormous, washed-out floodlights, beating down on the grass. It was going to be slippy out there, hard to get a good grip on the ground. This game was inevitably going to be an intense one. Michael had so much at stake, it was almost painful for Franklin to imagine the Bullhorns losing. 

He tilted his head and squinted at the bottom of the bleachers. He saw Principal Weston sitting underneath the cover of an umbrella, and beside him, sat three men in ties and sharp suit jackets. They looked out of place amongst the jerseys, hoodies and jeans. They must have been the scouts. Franklin tensed up on Michael's behalf. 

There was a sudden tap on his shoulder.

Tess collapsed on his left side. She wore a heavy, rain-spotted Bullhorns jacket and jeans, and had tied back her unruly, bright hair with a blue-and-white ribbon. She looked stunning, and it was breaking him apart inside. 

Before he could say anything, she'd pushed a cherry cola into his hand. The ice-coldness of the can made his already numbed hands sting. 

"Nah," he said loudly over the noise, trying to give it back to her. "Thanks, but Lamar's already--"

"I know, I met him on the way," she said quickly, barely looking at him. "That's yours."

Franklin blinked at her wordlessly. "Are you gonna watch the game with us?"

She shrugged and didn't answer, but she didn't get up, either. 

Franklin's mouth ran dry. She was sitting closer to him than she'd done in weeks, and all he wanted was to beg her forgiveness. But she wasn't looking at him, and her delicate features were hardened and purposely distant, and it just wasn't the right time. He needed to wait. Needed to show her all wasn't lost. 

He felt his pocket vibrate. "Do you mind if I answer that real quick?" he asked her. 

She shrugged again, and looked away.

Franklin swallowed back a sad sigh and slid his hand into his pocket. His phone's screen was flashing with Trevor's number. 

"What's up, T?"

"Franklin! How are ya, brother?"

"Uh, not too bad, T." A sudden scream burst behind him as the cheerleaders ran onto the field. 

"Where the fuck are you?" Trevor barked. "Is that Townley's big game?"

"Yeah, dog. It's gonna start pretty soon. How'd you know about that?"

"Michael told me about it a while back," Trevor mumbled. He sounded different --  _weird_ , really, his voice too-forced and too-casual to really be genuine. 

There was an awkward silence. Franklin cleared his throat. "Uhh... so, did you need somethin', T?"

"What? I can't call up my friends now?"

Franklin suddenly got it. "You know dog, if you want to come to the game, you can sit with us. It'll be fun, man, you--"

There was a burst of static on the other line as Trevor heaved out an angry exhale. "Fuck no! I want nothing to do with that poisonous fucking snake," he spat. "I only... I only called because... uh, I wanted to find out if the fuckin' football game  _was_ tonight so that I could fuckin'... fuckin'  _pray_ to the Lord above that those Bullhorns shitbirds LOSE!" 

The line went dead. 

Franklin felt sad. 

Lamar dropped down on his other side, balancing two drinks and a box of buttery popcorn. 

He passed the popcorn and a soda to Tess, patting her head affectionately. " Got you extra butter, homegirl." He nudged Franklin, leaning in close to whisper, "Any dice?"

Franklin shook his head, slow, and sipped his drink. He didn't really feel like watching the game anymore. 

Lamar nudged him again. "Don't let Weston see you, dog. You're expelled, remember? You ain't supposed to go to games." Franklin pulled up his hood. 

The cheerleaders were loud, enthusiastic and eager. The drums started up again, even louder this time, and the bleachers burst into fervent cheering as the scoreboards above the football field were switched on. The ground underneath Franklin's feet was vibrating with the noise. He watched as the football field was suddenly flooded with a team wearing red-and-black. 

"Yo L, are those the Rattlesnake motherfuckers?"

Lamar grimaced. "Unfortunately, homie."

"But they're... shit, dog, they're fucking  _huge_."

They looked like a college team. Big, burly guys with an average height of six foot two, wide-chested and angry-looking, with arms the size of tree trunks. Franklin began to understand why the Bullhorns always lost against them. It wasn't that the Bullhorns were small or anything, they really weren't, but compared to these guys... they might as well have been amateurs. 

The cheering disintegrated into boos and expletives as the Rattlesnakes started to warm-up on the field, stretching their giant muscles and amping themselves up. A few skidded on the muddy grass, staining their pristine uniforms before the game had even begun. One particular guy, the biggest of them all with a body like an ox and a twitchy way about him that made Franklin's stomach squirm with nerves. He looked like some kind of walking thunderstorm. 

"That's the Rattlesnake QB," Lamar explained, seeing Franklin's eyes widen slightly at the sight of him. "Real mean fucker. Plays dirty. He and Michael got some  _serious_ beef. They almost got themselves kicked off the field last year, they was scrappin' so bad."

Suddenly, the crowd let out a piercing roar, and Franklin spotted the Bullhorns jogging out from the opposite end of the field, Michael leading them.  _  
_

Lamar cheered, cupping his hands either side of his mouth to shout, "C'mon Townley! Kick their steroid asses!" which of course resulted in Weston turning around in his seat to shoot him a death glare. Franklin ducked his head, but Weston didn't see him. 

There was a confidence to Michael's walk that Franklin couldn't recall seeing before. Michael marched straight up to the Rattlesnake quarter-back, the big guy, and stuck out his hand. The big guy took it and shook it, but only for a brief second, letting Michael's hand drop with more roughness than what was really intended. The bleachers bubbled up with rage, and Weston just about popped a blood vessel attempting to calm down some students. 

"Shit," Lamar said, leaning forward, "This game's heated already."

Franklin scanned the Bullhorns and noticed that, where Michael's teammates had once stood by him shoulder-to-shoulder, they were now hanging back. They seemed... reluctant, nervous. There was a clear divide. A team was supposed to be united, and the fact the Bullhorns were not was definitely going to be a disadvantage to them in this game. 

Coach Quinn stomped her way aggressively into the centre of the field. Both teams formed a huddle -- the Bullhorns huddle barely lasting more than ten or fifteen seconds -- before they fell into their positions like seasoned soldiers. Coach Quinn placed her whistle between her lips, the crowd amplified their shouts and applause, and the muscles in Michael's back tightened as the clouds parted. Rain began to fall harder than before. The shrill shriek of the whistle pierced the air and Michael lunged forward. The game began. 

 

* * *

 

It took Franklin approximately twenty seconds to decide that he did not like the Rockford Rattlesnakes. 

He wasn't a big football fan, but even he knew there was no  _way_  a decent team played like that. They were as aggressive as wild animals, storming up and down the field in a haze of furious red-and-black, pushing down Bullhorns players like pins at a bowling alley. When Dave got a harsh tackle ten minutes in that sent him down hard, face planting into the mud, Michael almost knocked out the linebacker. He was given a warning, and the game continued on. Franklin's ears were ringing with the noise around him. 

The rain continued to bucket down from the night sky, turning the field into a slop of mud and grass. Franklin was positive that he was going to wake up tomorrow with one hell of a cold, but at that moment he couldn't care less. He was so invested in the game he was finding it hard to even register how cold his bones were feeling. He leapt to his feet and roared with the crowd when Michael sprinted down the field, faking left and dodging sliding Rattlesnakes like he'd been born to do it. He got the touchdown, and the response was wild. 

"I don't like that Rattlesnake quarter-back," Tess said nervously. "He's acting like he really wants to hurt somebody."

Franklin smiled at her. "Don't worry," he told her gently, "We're gonna win this." 

Twenty minutes in the Rattlesnakes scored, and Lamar threw his popcorn box at the back of some Greaser's head in a moment of impulsive rage, and almost got impaled as a result. Franklin's stomach was in knots. The field looked like a war-zone, but Michael was playing incredibly. It was the best Franklin had ever seen him, and even better yet, the crowd were beginning to remember why Michael was the most popular kid in the school. As the minutes passed and he zipped up and down the field, dominating the Rattlesnakes and slipping out of their grasp as easily as though he was made of water, the crowd forgot about him and Trevor, about Michael's great and profound scandal. They forgot about the sad-looking, pregnant ex-cheerleader sitting on the front bleachers, cradling her growing stomach and probably wondering when it had all gone wrong. 

Franklin had thought Michael would earn his respect back if he won this game for the Bullhorns, but now it was clear to see that Michael had already earned that respect back, just by reminding everyone how great he really was. 

Franklin kind of wished that Trevor was here to see it. He'd have felt proud. 

Before long, the score was neck-and-neck. Hardly anybody was sitting down now in the stands. They all stood, jittering up and down impatiently, _screaming_ out cheers and praises. Some began humming the school song. Franklin swore he saw Principal Weston bless himself. Franklin glanced around him and saw that a line of students at the back row were holding up signs spelling out  _Go Michael!_. The excitement was palpable, fizzing like static electricity. 

Michael scooped the ball off the ground and started to run with it, but the Rattlesnake quarterback was too fast. He tackled Michael hard, sending the smaller quarterback down rough, skidding through the mud. Coach Quinn blew her whistle and the crowd erupted with boos. Franklin yelled out the loudest, ducking his head again when Weston's head whipped around, his eyebrows furrowed suspiciously. Lamar laughed at him. 

Michael got up slowly, clutching his lower back with a scowl. He said something to Coach Quinn, who jabbed her finger in the Rattlesnake asshole's face, but that only seemed to irritate him rather than settle him. Michael's temper flared, his hands flew out and pushed at the other boy's chest, and Franklin held his breath, knowing that the coaches were watching. 

Lamar seemed to have read his mind. "Them coaches know Michael got a dirty tackle, homie," he said, "They won't hold that shit against him."

Coach Quinn separated them and gave Michael a quick breather to wipe the mud off his face and rub at his back. The crowd burst into thunderous applause when Michael held up a thumbs-up, and ran back out to join his team-mates. 

"C'mon Mike," Franklin whispered. "You got this."

The rain continued to fall. The next few minutes were particularly brutal. The Rattlesnakes got ahead by a good kick-off, and the conditions on the field were making it increasingly difficult to get a decent handle on the ball, or even to _run_. The crowd was getting antsy, screaming for a score. 

It happened after ten more minutes, when the scores were tied again, and the ball was passed to Michael. It happened in slow motion.

Michael stood tall, pulling his right arm back for a long-distance throw. The crowd held their breath, clambered to their feet again. Time froze. Before Franklin even knew what was happening, the same Rattlesnake quarterback was bolting straight for Michael. He lunged, dug his beefy left shoulder into Michael's side, slamming Michael down so hard that Michael actually flipped over backwards. Michael went down hard, head hitting the ground, ball skittering away from him. 

Only this time, he did not get back up. 

Nothing happened for a moment. And then, it was like everything happened all at once. 

A horrified gasp swept across the bleachers as the crowd realized what was going on. The rest of the Bullhorns lunged for the Rattlesnake QB, who looked all-together too pleased with himself, and started _tearing_ at him. Franklin felt his stomach turn to water. Michael stayed on the ground, unmoving. 

Weston was up and running across the field in seconds, Coach Quinn following, screaming her head off at the opposing team. The Bullhorns were now involved in a chaotic brawl with the other team, shouting and screaming, as Weston sunk to his knees next to Michael and gave his shoulder a shake. Michael didn't react. Coach Quinn marched right up to the fighting teams and blew her whistle, once, twice, three times, but nobody was listening. 

"Michael's _dead!_ " Somebody behind Franklin was hissing. "Oh my fucking God, he's not moving! Look! Oh my--"

Similar exclaims burst like bullets around him, as the crowd started leaving their seats, thudding down the bleacher steps to crane their necks and get a closer look. Coach Quinn was pulling her players off the Rattlesnakes, and thankfully the brawl was subdued, but it was touch-and-go, the air buzzing with tension. The Bullhorns returned to Michael and made a circle around him. Franklin couldn't see anything then. 

Tess was chalk white. "Oh my God," she said, barely able to get the words out. "Is Michael okay? Is he...?"

"I've never seen a tackle like that," Lamar said, his eyes flashing angrily, "That Rattlesnake motherfucker is gonna get it!"

Franklin felt sick. "We gotta--" his voice was shaking with the surge of horror shooting through him. "Fuck, dog, we gotta--"

Someone suddenly vaulted over the bar of the bleachers, and sprinted towards the crowd in a blur of crazed, long limbs. Franklin's blood ran cold. "Shit! That's fucking Trevor!" 

Trevor reached the crowd that had formed around Michael and pushed at them. Franklin could hear his low grunts and growls from where he was. Weston saw Trevor and recoiled, his whole body going rigid as he started shouting for him to leave the field. But Trevor wasn't listening. He looked like a madman, tearing his way through the crowd. Franklin looked at Lamar and Tess, and the three of them jerked to action at the same time. 

A few people followed them as they climbed over the railing and ran towards the crowd. The grass underneath Franklin's feet was drenched. He stumbled a few times, his shoes sinking deep into the mud and squelching, but he kept going. 

"LET ME THROUGH!" Trevor demanded. Franklin could see him nose-to-nose with Coach Quinn. 

"T!" Franklin screamed, grabbing his arm. "T, relax, we--"

Trevor shook him off furiously. He was trying to pry arms apart to see Michael, still lying unresponsive on the ground. "What the _fuck_ is wrong with him? Why isn't he getting up? Michael, get up! Can you hear me, you fucking asshole? GET UP--"

"Call an ambulance," Weston said frantically to Coach Quinn, who finally got out of Trevor's way and ran towards the locker rooms. He placed a hand on the shoulders of some of the players and pulled them back. "Give him some room, gentlemen."

Franklin saw his feet first. His shoes were slick with mud and tiny, wet blades of grass. The mud continued up, staining the cloth of his pants and sticking in great clumps to his knees. He was breathing, his chest rising and falling slow, but his eyes were closed. His skin looked milky and bruised, his bottom lip swollen, a trickle of blood slipping down his chin. Michael's hair was slick and wet with rain and sweat, and his hands, lying by his sides, were limp. Panic broke Franklin wide open. 

Trevor suddenly shot across the field. In seconds, he had seized the collar of the Rattlesnake QB and had thrown him hard to the ground. What the Rattlesnake had in size and muscle, Trevor made up for with sheer lunacy. He started to pummel the face of the other boy, screaming at him as he thrashed underneath Trevor's ferocious fists. 

" _You fuck!_ " he yelled. "You fucking fuck! You're _dead_ , do you hear me?" 

"Philips!" Weston shouted hysterically. "Stop that! _Philips!_ "

Franklin bolted over to Trevor and pulled him off the other boy. The Rattlesnake quarterback's face was bloody and beaten, both eye sockets purple, his nose apparently broken. Franklin dragged a still-kicking and screaming Trevor away, and had to hold him down until Trevor's wild thrashing had subsided. 

"Trevor, relax!" Franklin hissed. "It's gonna be okay, man! They called an ambulance?"

"Oh yeah? Well they're gonna have to call a _fucking coroner_ by the time I get done with that piece of shit Sasquatch!"  _  
_

Franklin was startled when Tess stormed over to them. Her hand flung out and she slapped Trevor, hard across the face. "Stop it!" she screamed at him. "You're just going to get yourself in more trouble. If you want to go in the ambulance, you better calm yourself the fuck down!" 

Trevor stopped thrashing instantly. He went very still. Franklin eased off him and helped him to stand, brushing grass off his shoulders. 

"Michael," Trevor said, his voice broken. 

"I know," Franklin replied. "I know, but it's gonna be alright. We'll go to the hospital."

Weston was shouting behind him. "Back  _off_ , please!" He was still pulling people away from Michael's unconscious body, as more and more people from the bleachers had wandered across the field to take a look for themselves. There was a flash of light, and Weston snarled. " _Beverly!_ I'll crush that camera with my bare hands if you take another picture!"

"Michael!  _Michael_!" Amanda was in tears, shaking Michael's shoulders and slapping his damp face. "Michael, please!"

A burst of thunder rumbled overhead, making everybody jump. 

An ambulance arrived a few minutes later, coming to a halt a few feet away on the field. The paramedics hurried across, picking their way carefully through the muck, a stretcher balanced between them. 

"Did anybody move him?" One of them called. 

Weston shook his head. "He hasn't woken up yet, it's been a few minutes. Is he...?"

The paramedics didn't answer him. They moved Michael slowly, strapping him onto the stretcher and carrying him back to the ambulance. Amanda went with them. 

Trevor stood in the rain, his whole frame slumped and defeated. Franklin put a hand on his shoulder. 

"You can come with us, T," he said. "Let's go." 

 

* * *

 

 

The hospital stank of bleach and coffee. It seemed to burn Franklin's nostrils. The blindingly white corridor that he found himself in seemed to stretch on and on, a never-ending hallway of endless doors. It was cold and mostly empty. Franklin turned around to glance back at the group he was leading, wondering how lost they must have looked, their wet, muddy shoes slapping down the rubber floor, their clothes soaked through. 

There was a hard lump in his throat that was making it hard to breathe. 

"I hope he's okay," Tess said softly, her voice so much louder than it the quiet. 

Trevor clenched his fists. "Of course he is," he snapped. "He's... fuck..."

Franklin nudged him. "He is, dog. I know he is." 

Franklin breathed a sigh of relief at the sight of Amanda, sitting in a small waiting room beside a closed wooden door. She was hunched over and shivering, her head buried in her hands. There was mud underneath her otherwise manicured fingernails. 

She looked up hopefully at the sound of footsteps, but her face broke again when she saw it was only them. "You're Franklin," she said hoarsely. Her eyebrows furrowed at the sight of Trevor. "You brought  _him_." 

"I deserve to be here just as much as you, sweetheart," Trevor growled. Franklin shot him a warning look. 

"Did he wake up in the ambulance?" Franklin sank down next to her. 

Amanda shook her head, whimpering. "They wouldn't tell me anything," she wept. "They kept whispering. We got here and they put him into that room. There's a doctor in there now. They told me to wait here." 

Tess sat down on Amanda's other side and slid off her jacket. She drew it around Amanda's shoulders. "You're shaking," she said. 

"Thank you," Amanda slipped her arms into the sleeves. Her mascara ran in black rivulets down her cheeks. She dropped her head into her hands again and let out a loud sob. "Oh  _God_ , this is so horrible."

Trevor was sitting across from them, bouncing his leg up and down impatiently, nails biting into the worn upholstery of the seat. His jaw was clenched.

Lamar smiled awkwardly at Amanda. "I'll go get you a hot drink or something."

"Get one for me too," Trevor barked, his eyes dark.

Lamar nodded once, turned on his heel and disappeared around the corner.

Tess and Amanda fell into quiet, whispered conversation, Tess rubbing Amanda's back soothingly. Franklin concentrated on keeping Trevor calm, getting up to drop into the seat next to him and squeeze his knee.

"How are you doing, homie?"

"I'm fucking wonderful," Trevor hissed.

"T--"

"You saw what that cocksucker did to Michael," Trevor interrupted, going red in the face. "I wanna go back to that school and shove my fist down his throat."

"Stay here," Franklin said sincerely. "C'mon, T."

Trevor looked over at Amanda's quietly crying frame, and something in the far depths of his eyes softened. "Both of us are his family," he told Franklin. "I'm staying."

Lamar returned a few minutes later with a tray of coffee for everybody, as well as two slices of apple pie that he gave to both Amanda and Trevor without a word. He sank down next to Franklin and there they waited. It could have been half an hour, or it could have been two hours, Franklin wasn't sure. Amanda kept crying and Trevor grew more impatient. The rain pummelled the windows. 

At last, the door to Michael's room opened and a doctor wandered out of it. She was tall, with lines at the corners of her eyes and her hair in a loose bun. She looked startled to find them all sitting there. 

Franklin stood up to talk to her, his knees like rubber. "How is he?"

"He's asleep," the doctor replied. "He got one hell of an injury out there." 

Trevor scowled at her. "Stop stalling. What's wrong with him?"

She narrowed her eyes at him. "A concussion, for one thing," she said. "He hit his head hard. He has some bruising, and a fractured rib." She glanced down at the file she was carrying and Franklin's heart skipped a beat at the concern that suddenly lit her eyes. "But his biggest worry right now is a pretty serious spinal injury." 

The room fell deadly quiet. 

Amanda held a tissue to her mouth. "S-Spinal injury?"

"He's broken some verabrae in his back. It could have been much more serious, like his neck for example. He's very lucky. He'll have to wear a brace for six months, and have a well-structured course of physiotherapy."

"Can we see him?" Trevor was shaking now. 

The doctor shook her head. "We gave him some morphine to stop his body from going into shock. You'll have to wait a little longer." 

After she left, Trevor sat down and stared at the wall. A few seconds later, he punched it. 

"T!" Franklin grabbed him and sat him back down. "Stop! You'll get us thrown outta the fuckin' hospital."

"A fucking  _spinal injury_?" Trevor was livid. "I'm going to find that Rattlesnake shitbird and gut him!"

Amanda rubbed her raw eyes. "I can't stay," she said weakly. "It's late, and I'm worried about the baby. You hear things about women going through shock and..."

"You shouldn't go back on your own," Tess said. "I'll walk you back." She helped Amanda to her feet, tucking the jacket tighter around her small bump. 

Amanda looked pleadingly at Franklin. "Can you please call me later, if you manage to see him?"

Franklin nodded. "Fo' sho', I will. Go back to the dorm and rest up." 

Tess hugged Lamar before she left, but ignored Franklin. He sat down and hung his head. 

 

* * *

 

 

Another hour went by, and it was torturous. Lamar fell asleep with his head at an awkward angle on his folded arms, legs tucked underneath him. Trevor didn't hit the wall again, but he looked like he was seriously weighing up the pros and cons of doing so again. 

After a while, footsteps sound from down the hall. Franklin felt his chest tighten at the sight of Michael's parents, making their way quickly up the hallway towards his room. His mom looked tired and much older than she actually was. Beside her, Mr. Townley was a staggering, red-faced embarrassment. He'd been drinking. Franklin could smell it before he had even reached the door. 

Trevor tensed up in his chair, his whole body going tight as if he was ready to jump up and pounce on Mr. Townley if he said anything, but Michael's old man didn't even notice them sitting there. He fumbled awkwardly with the door handle and slipped inside with his wife. The room looked dark, the blinds drawn. 

Franklin hooked Trevor's gaze and sighed. Trevor just shook his head. 

Michael's parents stay inside the room for a long time. The same doctor joined them after a few minutes. Franklin listened to the low, quiet rumble of voices, the lump in his throat as swollen as ever. He could hear disgust in Mr. Townley's low, slurred speech. He could hear Mrs. Townley crying. He knew why. 

It had been at the forefront of his mind ever since they had left the school. It flashed ugly and unwanted at the centre of his skull, a terrible neon-colored truth. It was the truth that was making Mr. Townley angry, the truth that was making Mrs. Townley cry. The truth that would, cruelly, change Michael's life forever. 

The truth was: Michael's football career was well and truly over. 

He wasn't going to get his scholarship. 

 

* * *

 

 

Lamar jerked awake when the door to Michael's room was thrown open and Mr. Townley stormed out. He walked straight past them, marching down the hallway drunkenly, practically dragging his knuckles on the ground. He was out the door and gone ages before Mrs. Townley came out, quiet and red-eyed, shaking the doctor's hand and thanking them quietly. 

She looked at Trevor once, briefly, her eyes filling up with fresh tears. Then, she followed her husband's trail and left. 

The doctor came out to them. "He's awake," she told them, her expression bathed in pity. It made Franklin annoyed. "You can see him now." 

Franklin sucked in a breath. The air was too dry on his tongue. 

Inside, the room was too-bright and too-clean. It felt cold and remote. The only colorful thing in the room was a yellow-and-white, polka-dot pitcher of water on the cream nightstand. The bedsheets were pale blue, the pillow as white as tooth enamel. Michael wore a hospital gown, his muddy football uniform rolled up in a ball on a stiff-looking wooden chair by the window. 

Michael's eyes were open. He stared up at the ceiling. Pale, silent, unblinking. 

Franklin disintegrated. "Michael." He knew that Michael knew the truth. It was written all over the Jock's face. Nothing Franklin could say would make this any better. He finally settled on, "I'm sorry."

Michael didn't blink. His eyes were fixed on that same point on the ceiling, like he was trying very, very hard to ignore the fact he was in this hospital room, lying in this bed. 

They had cleaned him up a little. The mud had been wiped from his face and hair, yet his lip was still swollen and split from the impact of hitting the earth. He had bruising around his collar. His face was ashen. His dark lashes cast shadows across his cheeks, he was so pale. 

Michael would not be going to the NFL.  

What the fuck was Franklin supposed to say? How do you comfort someone this inconsolable? Someone who has just watched his whole future burn down right in front of him? 

Franklin's throat filled up with all the words he could have said, but he couldn't get them out. He glanced pleadingly at Lamar, but his friend looked just as lost. 

Trevor took a slow step forward. 

He stepped over to the bed, to Michael's right side where another chair sat by the night stand. Trevor sat down on it, his fists clenched on his lap. The silence was deafening. 

Trevor leaned forward slowly. He didn't say anything to Michael, he barely even looked at him. All he did was drop his forehead gently onto Michael's chest, to the skin just below his collarbone. His arms stayed at his sides. His face crumbled. Franklin watched as he squeezed his eyes tightly shut, digging his forehead that little bit harder into Michael's chest, moving to finally bury his head against Michael's head. He let out a sob, and it echoed around the room. 

Michael didn't react at first. He never moved his eyes from the ceiling. Until, eventually, something in his body seemed to relax, and he released a breath he'd been holding, and his bottom lip started to tremble. His eyes filled up with tears, but did not spill over onto his cheeks. Just stayed there, glassy in his eyes. He didn't touch Trevor, didn't even look at him. But after a minute, he closed his eyes. Trevor continued to weep against his neck. 

Franklin and Lamar looked at each other. 

"Mike," Franklin said, "We're gonna give you two some time. I'll come back in the morning. Glad you're okay, dog."

Michael squeezed his eyes tight, and nodded. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my God. I feel like an asshole. 
> 
> Just one more chapter to go, and then the epilogue. Next chapter will be the attack on Steve Haines and the end of Franklin's time at Bullworth, two things I'm so excited to write about. It shouldn't take too long, especially as I'm currently on my mid-term from college and have more time on my hands :D 
> 
> I love you guys so much. I can't thank you enough for the feedback I get, you're all so amazing and I hope you enjoyed this one, traumatic experience or not. ;) I'll see you next time <3


	25. Goodbyes & Graduations

The next day was gray. 

The whole school seemed to be in a state of shock. It rippled in the air, an unsettling undercurrent of horror and anxiety, hanging above heads like a dark, threatening rain cloud. The Bullhorns moved around campus in one giant clump, stuck to each other, a crowd of lettermans and miserable faces. Coach Quinn was even more on edge than usual, which of course meant she was positively wired. If a kid so much as  _looked_ at her the wrong way, she had them in Weston's office with a scream and an insult. 

Weston himself was having a hard time keeping the crowd of furious students outside his office from rioting. Ms. Schultz was given the less-than-pleasant duty of standing outside Weston's door, telling the same angry people over and over and  _over_ again that the matter was being 'handled' by Weston, that the Rockford quarterback would not be getting away with that dirty tackle, yada yada yada. But it seemed to be just words. People were angry, people were upset. Bullworth Academy had lost its most prized treasure, its supremely talented quarterback, and tensions were high. 

Franklin only learned that the game had been allowed to go on after Michael was taken away, when he got back to the boys dorm. Dave was there, pacing around the living room, all riled up and snappy like an agitated dog. Franklin learned from him the terrible truth: the Bullhorns had lost, and fuck, they had lost pathetically. Without Michael calling the shots, telling them the plays, speeding up and down the field with more skill and talent than any of them put together... well, they just hadn't been able to do it without him. The final score was pitiful, and people were pissed. The Rattlesnakes would be advancing towards the championships, and Michael would continue to lie in his lonely little hospital bed, imagining  _them_  lifting the trophy now instead of him. 

Franklin didn't even care about the game. He cared more about Michael, and what this meant for him. He couldn't even imagine what Michael must be feeling. His whole future had just been ripped out from under him. 

Early that Saturday morning, Franklin travelled up to the hospital. Walking down the hallway towards Michael's room felt different this time. Last night, it had been like walking towards an impending, terrible storm, knowing that nothing would ever be the same if you were swept up inside its winds. Today, it felt like walking through the aftermath of the storm, moving amongst the destruction, seeing and feeling the pain, but realizing that nothing you could do was ever going to fix it. 

A different doctor stood outside Michael's room, writing in a chart with a sleepy expression. He glanced up when he saw Franklin coming, and gave him a brief smile. 

"Here to see Michael?" he asked. "He's certainly been our most popular patient today." 

Franklin nodded. "Is he okay?"

"He's a little tired, but doing well. That was a hard tackle that your friend got." The doctor paused, and suddenly lowered his voice to a whisper. "Are you friends with the other kid?"

Franklin frowned. "Sorry?"

"Tall kid, Canadian accent."

"Trevor?" Franklin said. "Is he here too?"

The doctor lifted one shoulder. "Hasn't left your friend's side since last night. Maybe see to it that Trevor gets a bite to eat? He's hell-bent on not leaving that room."

"I will," Franklin nodded at the doctor as he moved away, "Thanks."

Inside, the room was bathed in soft, early-morning sunlight, streaming in through the chinks in the blinds. It seemed different to yesterday - perhaps a tiny bit more cheerful, but not by much. The Bullhorns had clearly been here earlier, the walls had been plastered with some of the  _Go Bullhorns!_ posters and banners from last night, and a bunch of blue-and-white 'Get Well Soon' balloons swayed gently to an unknown breeze by the end of the bed. 

Machines beeped at Franklin as a way of greeting, and above his head, a ceiling fan turned slow and groggily, blowing cool air on his skin. To his surprise, Michael was not in the unmade hospital bed, but instead, sitting straight in the chair by the window with his phone on his lap, shivering a little in a heavier hospital gown to the one he'd been wearing yesterday. His muddy football gear was folded at his feet. 

Across the room, Trevor was curled up asleep in the other armchair, long legs kicked over the side, skinny arms folded across his chest, his lips parted, snoring like a lawnmower. His hair was mussed even more than usual, and dark circles painted the skin under his eyes. If possible, he looked worse than Michael did. 

"Franklin" Michael glanced up from his phone screen and he smiled. It was weak and frail around the edges, but still a smile nonetheless. He held his fist out to bump it against Franklin's. 

"You should be in bed, dog."

Michael snorted. "You sound like the quacks." His eyes were tired and drooping. "I can't lie down for longer than ten minutes, before my back starts burning. What's the point? I'm fine here." 

Franklin frowned, but didn't argue. He sank down on the edge of the bed, hearing the springs sag and creak. He peered back over his shoulder at the snoring Trevor. "He didn't go home?"

"No. The crazy idiot." Michael hung his head. "Last night, I kept telling him to go, but he wouldn't. You know how Trevor is. So, Doc brought in a blanket around midnight, and he was golden."

Franklin nodded at a tray of uneaten food, sitting on the nightstand. "You aren't eating?" 

Michael grimaced. "I'm not exactly a picky eater, but that shit tastes like cardboard. I'd love a fucking sandwich." 

"For breakfast?"

"For breakfast." Michael paused. His eyes travelled slow to Trevor's sleeping frame. "Trevor!" he hissed suddenly. "Hey T, wake up."

Trevor stirred, blinking one groggy eye open, looking disoriented, until he seemed to remember where he was and who was calling his name. Panic coated his face as his body jerked upright in the chair. "Mikey! What's wrong, are you okay?"

"I'm fine, relax." Michael said, rolling his eyes. "I need a second to talk to the kid," he nodded at Franklin. "Would you mind going across the street to that deli and getting us a couple sandwiches?"

Trevor stared at him, opening his mouth like he was about to protest. Michael silenced him with a look.

"Nothing is going to happen to me in the ten minutes it'll take you to run across the street," Michael told him, sighing. "Besides, Franklin's here."

"Fine." Trevor stood up, albeit reluctantly. He scooped his wallet up off the nightstand and went to the door. He looked back at Michael. "Don't go anywhere."

The corners of Michael's mouth twitched. "I won't."

The silence that the slamming door left behind made Franklin tug at his collar. He raised his eyes and studied the older boy sitting in the chair, his posture too straight to be comfortable. 

"Do you got the brace on?"

Michael used both arms to heave himself up off the chair and turned around to show him. Franklin could see something between where the strings of the hospital gown tied, something that resembled a weird corset, all straps and itchy, pale gray material. Michael eased himself back down and winced. 

"Six months I gotta wear this shit," he said, "plus, I can't breathe with this bandage wrapped tight around my ribs, and my head feels like it's been split open, so."

"I'm sorry, dog."

Michael raised his eyebrows. " _Sorry?_ " he echoed. "Kid, it ain't you that's gotta be sorry. It's that  _Rockford quarterback_  who's gonna be sorry." His jaw clenched, as if he was trying to stop himself from screaming aloud. He looked away from Franklin, his eyes rounded and sad. "I heard we lost," he said. 

Franklin's heart sank. "Yeah, man. It's fucked up they didn't cancel the game or something after you...after you went down."

"Coach Quinn and the guys... they were in here earlier. She said she wanted to kill Weston, but I guess he didn't have a choice."

"Yeah?" Franklin noticed something in Michael's expression. There was something else he wasn't saying. "What is it, dog?"

"It's me," said Michael, wincing, like the words tasted sharp in his mouth. He closed his eyes. "I'm off the team."

Franklin's eyes widened. "The fuck? - she can't do that--"

"She can do that, and she did." Michael said. "Can't have a quarterback with a brace. She said the spot would always be mine, but jesus, the season's over for us now. We're done and we lost and I hate that Rockford fucker for it." 

"I know Weston ain't the best principal, Mike, but he'll do something. Have them disqualified or or ban them from playing next year or--"

"Kid, it's  _over,_ " Michael snapped. "I can't do anything. Except,  _sit_ here on my ass, and watch everything go up in fuckin' flames around me." His eyes opened, stared into Franklin hard. "I'm scared, kid," he said. "I don't know  _what_ the fuck to do. I got no options now. None." 

Franklin scowled. "That's not true, dog."

"Isn't it? Try telling my old man that. He was here last night, and God, didn't he just about lose his  _mind_  when the doctors told him I couldn't play football again." Michael grimaced. "He's done with me. Football was all we ever planned for, and now some Rockford cocksucker took that away and... " Michael broke off, his voice falling quiet and shaky. "Shit, kid, I got nothing."

"There's tons of shit you can do other than football," Franklin insisted, trying to make his voice bright. "You're young, you're smart, you got leadership qualities. Motherfuckers be cryin' out for that in those job centres." 

"Yeah? And what kind of jobs are there that don't involve  _moving_  too much?" Michael grunted. "I've gotta sit on my ass for the next few months waiting for all of this crap to heal, and while I'm sitting on my ass, Amanda's gonna be the one who has to get a job. After she has a fucking  _baby!_  I don't want to do that to her." Michael stood up, holding the small of his back as he did so, scowling like he wanted to be anywhere else. He went over to the window and stood looking out through the blinds, as still as a statue. 

"Michael."

"I've fucked everything up," Michael said, not even listening to him. "But why should I be angry or surprised, right? I  _always_  fuck everything up. So I should have expected this."

"You got a kid coming," Franklin said furiously, "A kid that's gonna love you more than anything, man. And Amanda loves you, even though you did put her through some shit, I'll admit that. And Trevor... fuck, dog, Trevor would love you no matter what you did." 

Michael fell silent. Franklin slid off the bed and went over to the pitcher, where he poured a glass of water. He gave it to Michael at the window, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. 

"Thanks." Michael took a sip, his face sadder than Franklin had ever seen it. 

"It's gonna be okay, Mike."

"You know what I just realized?" Michael looked at him, his eyes glassy. "All my life, I've done what other people expected me to do. I was good at football, so my dad  _expected_  me to play it in high school. So I joined the team for  _him_ , to make  _him_ proud. I only started dating Amanda because she was a cheerleader, and I was the QB, and it was  _expected_ of me. My dad  _expected_  me to get this college scholarship, so that's why I went for it. Only, I realized," he took in a slow breath, the ghost of a smile twitching at the corners of his lips. "I don't even  _like_ football. I never really have, it was just something I did and was good at, like riding a bike. I never wanted to go into the NFL. But that was my dad's dream, and that asshole forced it on me because he was too much of a drunk to aspire to anything other than the bottom of a whiskey bottle." He turned his head and stared back out the window. "I never actually stopped to think about what I wanted. What I like, what I want to do." 

"So, what are you gonna do? Where do  _you_  want your life to go?"

Michael smiled. Really smiled. "I haven't figured that part out yet," he said. "But it's definitely not gonna be the NFL. To hell with my dad." 

Franklin squeezed his shoulder. "I agree, man. Fuck that." 

"So," Michael exhaled long and slow. "What now? We take down Steve Haines and hopefully don't get killed in the process, I graduate, and then...fuck, that's the scary part. What the fuck happens after graduation?"

Franklin shrugged. "You just live your life, I guess." He heard Michael grunt, and realized it was a laugh. 

"It's that easy, huh? Man," Michael shook his head, grinning. "It feels like I'm standing on the edge of a fuckin' black hole, and I have no idea where to go or what to do. This is the end, Frank. High school is ending and I have no fucking idea what to do."

"Maybe not, dog," Franklin said softly, "but I can tell you one thing, it ain't the end. It feels like the beginning to me."

Michael nodded at him, the corners of his mouth rising. "'The future is wide open in front of us, Horatio, and it's our choice what to do with it _._ "

Franklin frowned. "What?"

" _Nelson In Naples_ ," Michael turned back to the window, grinning. "It's my favourite movie. A classic."

The door behind them opened. Trevor burst in, carrying a plastic bag of warm deli rolls and a big bottle of soda. "I would've got booze," he said as way of greeting, "but Mikey's on a  _lot_ of medication right now and I don't want him passin' the fuck out on us." 

Michael chuckled. The way he was looking at Trevor, Franklin noticed, was different than before. "Thanks T. I was a few minutes short of gnawing my own arm off." 

"Did you ladies talk about anything interesting while I was gone?"

Franklin and Michael look at each other and smile. "Not really, man," Franklin replied. "Just talking." 

"Any word on Steve Haines?" Trevor asked, his eyes lighting up with the excitement of maybe getting to disembowel someone. "I'm starting to get impatient, kid."

"Soon," Franklin promised. "I'm waiting on Lester." 

"I might be all broken, but anything you need me to do, I still got your back." Michael said sincerely. "But uh, that whole bodyguard thing for you, that's not gonna work anymore."

"It's cool dog. I kinda get the feeling that just having T there will be enough."

Trevor thrust his fist high in the air. "Fuck yeah."

"I'm being discharged in a couple days," Michael said, "when I get back to the school, I'll join up with Lester and the rest of the Nerds, help them out with the tech they're doing."

"Sounds good, Mike. Thank you."

"So we're ready to roll on this?" Trevor asked, wiping hot sauce off his chin. "This is the big takedown?"

"Shit, dog, it seems like it."

Trevor's smile was wolfish. "Well, gentlemen, it's been a hell of an adventure." 

 

* * *

 

 

Michael returned to Bullworth a few days later; welcomed back by a parade of cheering students at the gates. Any ill feelings towards him were well and truly erased, as he made his way slow through the crowd, grinning from ear to ear and red in the face, people patting his back and slapping him high-fives, cheering his name. The whole of March might as well have been renamed Michael's Month, for the enthusiastic crowd that gathered around him now everywhere he went showed no signs of going away. 

Dave was also back on Michael's side after the whole Trevor thing. Franklin observed him helping Michael up the school building's steps numerous times, holding his arm as Michael eased himself down onto a cafeteria bench. The rest of the team were still keeping their distance, but they weren't slandering Michael's name up and down the school any more. Franklin knew that they would come around. And, even if they didn't, there was only two months left in the school year, two months before Michael graduated and left them all behind. Maybe it was for the better. 

April changed the colors again, like Spring and Winter had done before it. The trees were once again heavy with lush, green leaves and the earth, so hard after the harsh snow, was returning to its soft, spongy brown self. One morning Franklin awoke to the sound of lawnmowers, and it brought a weird smile to his face. 

Preparations had also begun for next month's Senior prom, and somehow, probably because of his apparent torching of the boys dorm, Franklin found himself roped in to the prom committee as some kind of weird community service. It wasn't so bad though, not really. Lamar joined him to keep him from going insane, and they mostly just fucked around for an hour, hanging up the rather morose, cheap-looking decorations in the school gym and enjoying each other's company. Now that Lamar had his scholarship in the bag, he was remarkably less on edge. Everyone else left them to it. 

On one particularly wet, blustery afternoon, Franklin stood in the gym hanging up fairy lights, the rest of the committee buzzing around behind him a flow of rapid activity. 

Lamar wobbled awkwardly on the chair he was standing on, letting slip a few choice curse words as he struggled to hang up the lights. "How come I'm the one up here doing this shit, and you down there on solid ground on your damn ass." 

Franklin rolled his eyes from where he sat, watching him, on the floor. "'Cause you're seven foot eight and I can't reach."

"That's right, play the short card. Damn," Lamar cursed again as the chair shook unstably underneath him. "Hold this fucking chair, homie, 'fore I crack my head on the damn ground and they give my scholarship to some Rockford High asshole."

Franklin steadied the chair with both hands and looked around. Weston was marching up and down the gym, barking out orders and not doing any actual work himself. At the moment, he was talking angrily on the phone to the prom's catering company, incredulous to the fact he had to fork out a considerable amount of money to feed one hundred Seniors. Franklin watched him hang up, red-faced and grumbling. 

"Hey, I'll be back in a second."

"What?" The chair wobbled again when Franklin's hands left it. "Where the hell are you going, leaving ya boy stranded up here?"

"Man, just hang up the damn lights."

Weston had sunk down onto the gym's first row of steps, his head in his hands, completely ignoring the stammering student in front of him, who was trying to ask as nicely as he could about how many balloons to string up outside. The kid saw Franklin coming and scampered. 

"Sir," Franklin collapsed next to Weston and nudged him. "Are you okay?"

"Okay?" Weston snorted, not moving his hands from his face. "I've got the school board breathing down my neck about going over budget for this prom, I've got every single newshound in the state on my ass about what happened to Townley, and on top of that, I've also got a pissed-off mob threatening to break down the doors of my office if I don't do something about that Rattlesnakes quarterback." He broke off with a grimace. "So yeah, kid, I'm just peachy."

Franklin paused. "Can I ask you a question, sir?"

Weston pinched the bridge of his nose. "If it's about Haines, kid, I swear I'll--"

"It's not."

Weston looked at him. "Fine," he said. "What's on your mind?"

"What made you decide to become a principal?"

Weston actually laughed. 

Franklin frowned. "I just meant, you don't strike me as the type to wanna take kids under your wing and set 'em straight."

"Let me tell you something," Weston said, after a beat of silence. "The question's isn't  _why_ I took this God-forsaken job, slick. The question is why not."

Franklin blinked at him. "I don't follow."

"I figured," Weston grimaced. He sighed. "I remember when you first got here, kid. A real tough guy, right? Thought you'd be out of these doors by the end of week. But look at you now."

Franklin looked away. "I'm expelled, sir."

" _Temporarily_ ," Weston reminded him, his voice gruff. "But that's not what we're talking about." He cleared his throat. "Do you know what Bullworth Academy's drop-out rate is, Clinton?"

Franklin bit his lip. "No offence, but I'd guess... pretty damn high?" 

Weston paused. "Actually, you're wrong. It's practically non-existent."

Franklin swivelled around and gaped at him. "Are you serious? What about Trevor? What about me?" 

"Philips was a special case," Weston replied, with a slight wince. "And as I said already, you're not expelled the way most schools expel their brats." 

"What are you trying to say, sir?"

"I'm saying that, like it or not, this school became more to you than you thought it would. Because, and I want you to look around kid, because right now, you're surrounded by people who are exactly like  _you_." He exhaled. "You think you're the only tough guy I've had stroll into my office, expecting to get thrown out? Hell no, and you won't be the last. Because every lost cause ends up here." 

"...Sir?"

"This is a place for the screw-ups, the kids stamped on by society. We don't expel anyone because, if you make it as far as Bullworth kid, then you're exactly where you're supposed to be."

Franklin felt strange. He moved his eyes to his shoes. 

Weston heaved another sigh. "Look, whatever you're planning, make it clean and simple and get what you need.  _Don't_ land yourself in any more trouble."

A prickle shot up Franklin's spine. He turned to stare at Weston, a little astonished. "What we're... planning, sir?"

Weston rolled his eyes. "Don't play dumb, Clinton. You aren't the type to sit back and let Steven Haines win." 

"Sir--"

"I told you get to proof," he cut him off sternly, "Without it, there's nothing I can do." 

Franklin watched, stunned, as Weston pulled himself to his feet and went to walk away. 

Franklin called out, "You don't really like Steve that much, do you, sir?" 

Weston moved away from him and didn't answer, but Franklin swore he saw the ghost of a smile on his face. 

Before Franklin could dwell on what Weston had said, there was a loud yelp from across the room and a hard bang, as Lamar's chair overturned and he was sent skidding across the floor, lights coiled around him likes snakes. 

"Ey! A little help over here, homie?"

 

* * *

 

 

On prom night, Franklin stretched out on the couch in the dormitory living room, watching the Senior boys zip from room to room, helping one another with bow ties and shoe clasps and hair styles. The whole place stank of cheap cologne and testosterone. Franklin was just happy he and the rest of the non-Seniors would be getting some peace and quiet tonight. With the Seniors out causing havoc in the gym, and most of the other students using the opportunity of distracted teachers to cause havoc everywhere else, the boys dorm would be vacant and Franklin could sit on his ass without fear of an angry-eyed Senior beating him over the head with the TV remote. 

It was also entertaining as fuck to see Michael stamping around in a too-tight tuxedo, red-faced and pulling at his collar.

"Shut up," he said to Franklin, easing himself down onto the armchair beside the couch. Michael's brace meant he had to sit as straight and as stiff as a board at all times, which was also kind of hilarious. Now, he constantly looked as though he had a rod shoved up his ass. 

"I didn't say anything, dog," Franklin snorted. 

"You're thinking it." Michael said. He lifted both arms experimentally, the material of the suit straining against his arms. "Fuck this," he snapped. "I told Amanda this was too small."

"You look good, man, don't worry about it." Franklin told him sincerely. "You got that classic Vinewood vibe going."

Michael checked his watch. "Amanda's gonna be  _hours_ ," he groaned. "She's going bat-shit about her dress. She thinks she looks fat in it."

Franklin bit his lip. 

"Don't say it," Michael sighed. "I know she's seven months pregnant, I know she's not gonna have the flat stomach she wanted for prom but," he broke off, grunting. "Damn it, why are we even going to this thing?"

Behind them in the hallway, Dave passed by with slicked-back hair and a patronizing smirk. "It's a rite of passage, Michael."

"Fuck you," Michael called back. 

"You're still going to prom with Amanda?" Franklin asked dubiously. "I thought she was still mad at you."

Michael winced. "I'm not letting some asswipe take my pregnant ex-girlfriend to prom." He shrugged. "We're not together, but she's not mad at me. Things are... they're okay. Weird, and a little uncomfortable, but okay."

"It's good that y'all are doing okay," Franklin replied. "For the kid, you know?"

Michael nodded. "I can't believe it's gonna be here in two months."

"You'll be all right."

"Speaking of the kid," Michael raised his head slowly, his voice kind of thick. "I wanted to ask you something."

"Yeah?"

Michael swallowed. "I'm gonna be graduating in a couple weeks," he said "and I don't know where the hell we're gonna all end up, but I do know that I sure as hell won't be raising my kid in this town."

Franklin's stomach sank. "You're leaving, huh?"

Michael nodded again. "I've been looking for somewhere near Amanda's parents, somewhere where I can see the kid. Where we can raise it right, even though we won't be living together."

"I understand man, but shit, it's sure is gonna be weird next year, not seeing you around."

"I know, and who knows when you and me are gonna get to hang out again. But, I wanted you to know, you've been more of a friend to me than anyone, and I really appreciate all the shit you did for me this year. I know we've had our moments, the fucked-up stuff that we've put behind us, but seriously Frank, you're a good kid and a great friend, and I guess I just wanted to say thank you."

Franklin smiled. "You don't need to thank me, Mike. But the same to you, homie."

"So," Michael suddenly looked awkward, bringing his hand up to rub the back of his neck, to where the collar of his suit jacket was digging into his skin. "I mean, me and Amanda were kind of hoping..."

Franklin raised an eyebrow. "Mike?"

Michael looked down before finally saying, "Will you be our kid's godfather?"

Franklin stared at him, astonished. "...Me?"

"Yeah, you. I can't think of anyone else who'd be a better fit." 

Franklin was lost for words. His chest filled with something he couldn't describe, and in seconds, he'd heaved his body off the couch and was stepping over to Michael and putting his arms around the older boy in a brief, one-armed, but meaningful hug. 

"Hey, watch the back," Michael said, chuckling, giving Franklin a small squeeze back before they pulled apart. "It's not exactly naming 'em after you, but hopefully, this is just as good."

"I don't know what to fucking say, homie," Franklin said, dazed. "Thank you, dog. _Thank you_. Of course I'll be godfather, man. That's fucking... wow. Trill, dog, thank you."

Michael grinned. "Glad to hear it."

There was a soft cough from behind them, and they turned to see Lamar leaning against the wall with one-shoulder, a bunch of books clutched to his chest. "This is some Hallmark shit," he said with a smile. He nodded at Franklin. "Happy for you, homie. But ey, Mike, you didn't consider me for godfather?"

"No, fuck that," Franklin was incredulous. "Get your own godkid." 

Michael rolled his eyes and stood up. "You could always co-parent."

"I wouldn't share a sandwich with this asshole," Lamar said, giving Franklin a playful shove as he collapsed next to him on the couch. "Looks like I'll just have to find my own Senior to adopt me and be the big brother I never had."

Michael laughed at the door. "I'm getting out of here. I'll see you guys later." 

Franklin was still smiling long after the door had closed behind him. "This is a good day."

The dormitory falls pretty much utterly silent the second all of the Seniors trundle out the doors at eight o'clock, stinking to high heaven of soap and cologne, stiff in their tuxedos and bantering good-naturedly. Lamar took off for the sanctity of the library pretty soon after, but Franklin wasn't too disappointed. He had the TV to himself and a marathon of  _Rehab Island_ to get through. With his future at Bullworth relatively dubious, he felt like he owed it to himself for one last night on the couch, enjoying the place that had, somehow, become his home, before he would inevitably be kicked out the gates come summer vacation. 

He didn't want to go to Barcelona. He'd happily live in Trevor's filthy trailer for the year. The truth was, Lester was taking his time figuring out how to take Steve down and Franklin was worried. What if they couldn't do this? What if Steve was going to win? What if everything he had worked so hard for this year crumbled away beneath him? 

Around ten thirty, Franklin's eyes were heavy-lidded and sore. He pulled himself groggily into sitting position, and was just reaching for the remote when the front doors in the hallway opened and someone drifted into the living room. An unexpected someone. 

Franklin's stomach clenched. "Tess," he said, standing up for a reason he wasn't quite sure of. "Uh, hey."

She lingered awkwardly, just a few feet away, dressed in faded jeans and a warm red sweater that matched her hair. "Hi," she said, her voice a little quiet. "Are you by yourself?"

He sat back down, sliding right down to the end. "Yeah," he replied. "Uh, prom."

She nodded. "I passed by."

He grinned. "Did you see my kick-ass decorating skills?"

Tess didn't smile. "It was a little dark." She cleared her throat. "Um, do you mind if I sit down? I have something I need to talk to you about."

Franklin pushed away the panic that came blazing up through his chest, focusing on rearranging the couch cushions. "Uh shit, yeah, of course you can."

Tess dropped onto the couch. Neither of them said anything for a few moments. The quiet, that had been so comforting and peaceful up until now, was now screaming in Franklin's ears. His fingers twitched with the urge to turn up the volume on the TV. 

"So," Tess began. "About Steve."

"Have you heard anything?"

She shook her head, a few wisps of hair coming undone at the side. "No, nothing like that. But, um, here's the thing." She hesitated. "I don't think I can help you out with the plan."

Franklin stopped. "What?"

She looked away from him, hands limp in her lap. "I've been thinking," Tess said. "What if it all goes belly up? What if, somehow, Steve knows what you're doing and he's planning something even bigger. He's smarter than he leads people to believe. I'm worried that you're just going to get yourself into more trouble."

"No matter how smart Steve thinks he is, there's no way in hell he can ever outsmart Lester Crest," Franklin told her fiercely. "You don't have anything to worry about, Tess. We'll do this."

"But _I_ can't."

" _Why?_ "

She scowled. "You said that your aunt is going to take you to Barcelona?"

Franklin shrugged. "She's tryin' to, but that's not going to happen."

"Yeah? And what if it  _does_?" Tess looked at him then, and to his confusion, he saw that her eyes were wet. "You leave and go to another country, and we never see you again?" She seemed to be furious about the fact she was crying. She started wiping at her eyes hard, rubbing them red and raw. "If I help you out with this, but it ends bad, then what we've worked for all year doesn't matter  _shit_ , and you leave us behind." 

"What's this about, Tess?"

"It's about _you_ ," she snapped. "It's fucking you. You and your _stupid_ fucking plans and ideas, you and the fact everything seems to go wrong for you. You lying to us, making deals with shitty Greasebags, kissing weirdos like Ashley Butler."

Franklin felt hot. "That's not-- I told you we--"

"It's you," Tess said angrily. "It's fucking you, and I can't stand it. I can't stand the fact that you might be leaving and, and--"

Franklin grabbed her hands. They were clammy, but soft. "Listen," he said, " _this is going to work_."

Tess pulled away, shaking her head. Franklin could hear his blood, drumming in his ears. "I can't," she said. 

" _I need you_. I need you to help." 

She stood up. "I'm sorry. I'm _really_ sorry, Franklin."

"Tess--"

"I can't help you," she told him. "Because if I help you, it means more than just helping you take down a Preppie. It means that..." She gestured between them. "It means that we're addressing whatever _this_ is. And I don't want to do that to myself if there's a chance you could be leaving."

"Tess."

"I'm sorry. I really hope you understand."

The silence that she left behind was far, far worse than Franklin could even have imagined. He sat for what felt like hours, feeling as though his lungs had collapsed. 

When the door opened again, a part of him swelled and grew with hope. The other part told him he was stupid. 

It was Michael, his suit rumpled now, his face red and fresh with cold air and dancing. His hand was warm on Franklin's shoulder. 

"Hey," he whispered. 

Franklin swallowed down the pain to turn and smile at him weakly. "Hey dog, you're back early."

"Amanda got tired," Michael explained. "But, we had a good time. I think everything is going to be okay."

"That's good, man." He looked up at him. "...But?"

"But," Michael bit his lip. "A while back, I made this half-ass promise to someone, telling 'em I'd take them to prom." He chuckled. "Back then, I just said it to appease them, because there was no way it was actually going to happen. But now? It doesn't seem so crazy."

Franklin smiled. "So," he said, "you just gonna show up at Trevor's door, tux and all?"

Michael laughed. "Pretty much." He nudged him. "You can come, if you want. We're not actually going to prom, probably just get drunk and dance to whatever's on the radio." 

"Nah, I'm good here man. But you go, and have a good time." 

Michael departed with a warm smile on his face. Franklin wanted to feel happy for him, but all he could think about was Tess. He reluctantly recognized that she was right. If something between them happened, and then the plan fucked up and Franklin got shipped off to Spain? It wasn't just Tess who'd feel screwed over and hurt. Franklin was sure fall apart. If he didn't have Tess in his life, it would just seem... wrong. Like it was somebody else's life, not his.

A jigsaw puzzle with a missing piece. 

 

* * *

 

 

Franklin got the call at four o'clock on a Wednesday afternoon, two weeks after prom, and one week before the Senior graduation. 

He was about to head into town with Lamar to grab something to eat, one last visit to the diner, when his cell phone burst to life in his jacket pocket. 

"Franklin." It was Lester. He drew in a nasally breath and said, "Phase One is go." 

 

* * *

 

 

"This is bad," Lamar was saying, "Fuck, Frank, that looks like a storm." 

The sky was steel-wool and gurgling. The heavy clouds rolled together, brimming with cold rain, and every few minutes a crash of thunder shook Franklin's bones. Just seconds ago, forked lightning had lit up the sky like a white firework, blinding him. But he couldn't stop his feet from moving, couldn't stop splashing through the puddles as he and Lamar made their way towards the football field. His heart was racing. He could barely feel the sharp raindrops hitting his skin. It was the cold kind of rain, the type that dripped and blew sideways, hard and punishing. 

But Franklin couldn't stop. 

"Frank," Lamar was behind him, breathing heavy in an attempt to keep up. "Frank, I think we should--"

"We're ending this," Franklin said, raindrops slipping down his chin. He turned around. He could see the gym, he could see where the bleachers began. In the distance, he could make out the rain-beaten windows of the scoreboard tower. Lester, Michael and the rest of the Nerds were inside, manning the control terminals, waiting. Franklin pushed Lamar forward. "Go," he said. "Make sure everything is set up. We only get one shot at this."

Lamar nodded. "Alright," he said. "Fine, shit, okay. Just be careful." He reached into the pocket of his jeans and pulled out a long wire, at the end of which sat a small, round device. "This is the camera," he said, pulling the lapel of Franklin's jacket over to the side a little so he could hide the camera inside. "Keep it on Steve, no matter what." 

Franklin clapped him on the shoulder. "And if it goes bad down here...?"

"We got Crazy Dude hooked up with a little radio. Lester's gonna tell him if you need help, and he's gonna come running. Plus, you got us in the scoreboard tower," Lamar reminded him. "If it goes bad _real_ quick, Lester's gonna call Johnny and get him to bring Weston down right away." 

"Okay." Franklin took a deep breath. "Did Dom call?"

"On his way," Lamar said. "With Steve." 

"Then you better get up to the scoreboard."

"Watch your ass, homie." 

"You too."

 _Crack_. Lightning burst across the sky as Lamar turned on his heel and jogged away, shoes squeaking with rain. Franklin balled up his fists and followed. Lamar was already across the field and opening the door to the tower by the time Franklin made it down the slippery bleachers. 

Despite the time, it was dark and gloomy because of the storm, and the floodlights made the flooded grass seem washed-out and surreal. There was a lump in Franklin's throat like a stone, and he couldn't feel his hands or feet, they were so numbed with the cold. He hoped that this wasn't going to last too long. 

He went to stand in the centre of the field. He was soaked to the skin, and under his feet, wet grass and mud clung to the soles of his shoes. The whole field was like a swimming pool. 

His breath fogged the air in front of him as the minutes ticked by, thunder rolling overhead. 

Franklin saw his feet first. 

Steve came down the bleachers, eyes fixed on Franklin but not hurrying, now that he knew just exactly why Dom had brought him down here in the pissing rain. Next to him, Dom was moving nervously, arms by his sides, just two steps behind Steve. He hurried up a little when he saw Franklin. 

The rain seemed to grow even louder. 

"Come on," Franklin said under his breath, gritting his teeth and steeling his chest and balling up his fists. "Come and get me, you Preppie motherfucker." 

He glanced over his shoulder. He couldn't see through the windows of the scoreboard tower, the floodlights were too bright and the rain too heavy. He prayed they had managed to get the terminal hacked, that this was going to work. He was doing this not just for himself and everyone else who'd been fucked over by Steve, but he was also doing it for Tess. He needed this to work, because he couldn't leave her behind. 

Steve reached the grass, and kept coming. His windbreaker was slick with rain, his hair plastered to his head, and he was smiling. Franklin swallowed. He was ready, as ready as he'd ever be. 

Behind Steve, Dom raised one hand and gave him a thumbs-up. 

Franklin took a step forward. "Steve." 

"What's all this?" Steve asked him. He turned around and smiled at Dom. "You're in with this guy, huh?"

Dom looked away. 

"This ends now," Franklin said, raising his voice over the thunder. "No more shady shit behind each other's back. You're gonna tell Weston what you did." 

"Am I now?" Steve said, his eyes widening. "What exactly did I do?" 

"Cut the crap. You started the fire at the boys dorm. You put up those pictures of Michael and Trevor. You've been working with Rocco Pelosi since day fucking one." 

Steve didn't say anything. He just took a step forward, staring hard at Franklin, but his smile had disappeared. Melted right off his face, along with the rain. 

"You're done." Franklin said. 

"Are you threatening me, pal?"

"No, I'm not. I'm telling you that this shit is over. It's gone on _too long_ , dog, and if you don't admit what you did, right here and right now, then--"

The next thing Franklin saw was the flicker of a smile ghosting across Steve's face, before a fist flies outward and connects hard with his nose. 

Franklin staggered backwards, bringing a numbed hand up to his nose and feeling something hot and wet gushing out of it. "You got some fucking courage since I saw your ass last," Franklin shouted, rage bubbling up inside him, ready to burst. "This is how you want it to go, huh? You want this?" 

"What I  _want_ ," Steve hissed, "is for you to realize that in this school, there's a chain of command, and you my friend are  _way_ down at the fucking bottom."

Franklin could taste blood in his mouth. The area above his lips was hot and sharp to the touch. "I don't want to fight you, Haines."

Steve lunged. Franklin was sent flying backwards into the mud. He hissed as cold water and mud seeped through his jeans, breathless as Steve's fist collided with his eye this time. Pain seared through his temple like he'd been hit with a hammer. Dom was on Steve in a second, yanking him off and struggling with him. 

Franklin scrambled to his feet, dazed, squinting through the attacked eye and feeling like his head was about to burst. His jeans and his back were dripping with mud. Steve had flipped Dom onto his back and was enthusiastically beating the ever-living shit out of him. 

"You  _fucking rat_ ," Steve was snarling. "I knew you were going behind my back! You new-money piece of--"

Franklin shoved Steve off and swung a punch, keeping him on the ground. Dom was dazed, his eye swollen and his lip split, but he was okay. "Stay down," Franklin told him. "I'll deal with this."

"Yeah, come on Clinton,  _deal with me_." Steve taunted. Before long, the two of them were moving around each other in a slow circle, shoulders raised and hands outstretched, Dom moaning on the ground and clutching his head. 

"I told you," Franklin shouted, "I don't wanna fight you."

"Fuck you," Steve growled.

"You started the fire," Franklin said, "Come on, Steve. Grow the fuck up and get out of this class-system bullshit. Just say what you did and this doesn't have to end bad." 

Steve rushed forward and shoved him. Franklin staggered, but managed to bring his fist up to undercut Steve in the jaw. Steve cried out and stumbled, fists flying, his breathing laboured as he lunged head-first against Franklin's chest and knocked him down. Mud slapped sickly underneath him as Steve pinned him down, driving his knee into Franklin's chest and knocking the air from his lungs. 

Franklin wheezed, panic filling him as he realized this was now a dangerous fucking situation. He looked over at Dom, but the other boy was still passed out in the mud, chest rising and falling slow. Blood filled Franklin's mouth as he bit his tongue, pain searing through his chest as Steve punched him again, over and over. 

Franklin blinked one swollen eye open and saw the window of the tower flying open. Lester poked a frantic head out of it. "Franklin!" he shouted. "The storm's interfering with the radios! I can't get through to Trevor!"

Dread swept over Franklin like a cold, horrible wave. He tried to move but everything felt broken. Steve was still on top of him, fists pounding like a demented animal, spit hitting Franklin's face. 

"You can't beat me," Steve was snarling. " _You can't fucking beat me_. I won. I WON--"

 _Bang_. Before Franklin could even register what was happening, a fat, round rock had slammed against Steve's temple and he was sent tumbling to the side, into a groaning heap on the flooded grass. 

Franklin felt hands on him, fingers curling into the muddy, damp material of his jacket and trying to drag him to his feet. Blood was trickling into his left eye, and his other was swollen shut and burning, but he could make out long, wet red hair.

"Newbie," Tess hissed, "Come on, get up! Quick, c'mon, you're okay." 

Franklin felt his bottom lip curl. Felt pure, white-hot rage burn him from the inside out and force him into standing position. Thunder roared like a creature from hell above his head, but he can barely hear it. Steve was heaving himself off the ground, a mixture of blood and dirt smearing his face and clothes, a bump beginning to grow where Tess had hit him with the rock. 

Franklin balled up his fists. "You haven't won yet." 

Steve's face was blazing a red so ferocious that the rain hammering him seemed to be steaming. Franklin clenched his teeth. "You're a fucking coward," he said. 

Steve's eyes narrowed. "You don't know anything about me." 

"I know that your old man has Weston wrapped so far around his finger that he  _lied_ for you," Franklin countered. "Weston told me that your dad said you were with him at some party the night the fire started. But you weren't, were you? Your dad lied."

Steve lowered his voice to a whisper. "Shut your fucking mouth." 

"You're a power-hungry piece of shit," Franklin fumed. "You want to be some kind of supreme leader of this school, huh? Fuck that, and fuck you. You don't get to control people like some kind of dictator. You don't get to have some kind of class structure to make yourself untouchable."

Steve took an angry step forward. "I can do whatever I want, cocksucker."

"Is that why you did what you did?" Franklin demanded. "To show people they should be scared of you or something? Lemme tell you something, dog, you ain't shit." 

Tess gave Franklin the smallest nudge. He glanced over to the bleachers. He could see the Greasers moving slow, Weston following, staring down at the field. Time was running out. Franklin needed Steve to say something, and he needed him to do it now. 

"You framed me," Franklin said. "You knew I'd find the jacket, you knew I'd go looking in your room. You wanted me to find that jerry can."

Steve brought a hand up to his head and winced as his fingers brushed the spot where Tess had hit him. "Are you sure about that?"

"I told you, this is over. I know everything."

"You must have a fucking deathwish," Steve snapped. "You don't know shit."

"What would happen if your old man found out what a piece of shit you really are, huh?"

A vein bulged from Steve's forehead. "Shut the fuck up."

"You're a coward, and you finally fucking realized that you don't own anybody at this school." Franklin snorted. "You don't have any power! So you set that fire to make a statement. Only it backfired, didn't it, motherfucker? 'Cos the bitch you framed for it stood up to you, and you didn't like it."

Steve was just inches from him now. The air seemed to be bubbling, and Weston was getting closer, walking towards them behind Steve's back, walking like he was ready to rip them apart. 

Steve took a step forward, his eyes madder than Franklin had ever seen them. 

Franklin held his breath. 

"Weston is wrapped around my finger," he stated. "I did start that fire, and there's nothing you can do to convince Weston that I did." 

Franklin backed away, pulling Tess with him. Steve stared at them in confusion as Franklin lifted a hand and pointed at the scoreboard tower, where the window opened again and, this time, Michael stuck his head out. 

"GOT IT!" he yelled. 

Steve's eyes widened in comical horror as, immediately, the football field's screen switched on and lit up and burst to life with Steve's face, just seconds before. " _Weston is wrapped around my finger._   _I did start that fire, and there's nothing you can do to convince Weston that I did"_ echoed again and again and again, loud and direct above the thunder and the rain, and Franklin could see Weston freezing in place and turning to gape at the screen as Steve's own smug face gave him away. 

The color drained from Steve's face. "What--"

" _Haines_ ," Weston's voice was as loud as the thunder. "Don't move." 

 

* * *

 

 

After what felt like the longest ten-minute walk of Franklin's life, he found himself sitting in Weston's office with a towel around him and an ice-pack to hold against his eye and nose. The rain was slowing up outside the window, now just a light drizzle, but the crackling, warm firelight in the corner was so comforting. Weston sat like a statue, fingers laced, an expensive watch wrapped around his wrist, his jaw clenched so tight he might have to pry it apart to speak. 

Steve was still milk-white and speechless, sitting in the chair next to Franklin's. Franklin couldn't help but notice that he also got a towel, but not an ice-pack. 

"What you did," Weston said to Franklin, punctuating each word with a clench of his knuckles, "was just about the dumbest thing I have ever seen in all my years as principal of this school." He sniffed. "But, that being said, it was also kind of remarkable. I don't know _how_ Mr. Crest got access to that terminal, and frankly I don't _want_ to know, but you and your little group got the proof that I needed from you, so, well freakin' done." 

Franklin felt something inside him glow. "Thank you, sir." 

"Steve, I'm extremely disappointed in you, as is your father."

Steve stiffened. "You called my father?"

"He's on his way to pick you up. And as we speak, I've also had someone start to pack up your stuff in Harrington House." 

Steve's mouth fell open. "I--my stuff?"

"You're expelled. And honestly, I'm a little amazed you thought you wouldn't be, after that stunt you pulled." 

Steve looked sick. 

"Meanwhile, Clinton," Weston continued, "Congratulations. You're un-expelled. Welcome, uh, _back_ to Bullworth." 

Franklin was looking at Steve. "Uh, thanks, sir." 

"I'll call your aunt, and I guess we'll look forward to having you back with us next September. As for all the work you've missed since you were first expelled, I'm sure Mr. Davis wouldn't mind helping you catch up, now that he has some free time after earning his scholarship. And, as well as that, Mr. Davis's mother also called. It seems you'll have a home this summer while your aunt is in Spain. She's very kindly invited you to stay with Lamar this summer." 

The bump on Steve's head was swollen and purple-green. It looked like he had a golf ball buried underneath his skin, like something from a cartoon. He looked pathetic, his clothes all muddy, biting back tears he was probably too humiliated to let slip out. 

Weston was talking about the work Franklin had missed, something about summer assignments to help him make up the time, and fuck, Franklin  _knew_ that he was probably going crazy, and he  _knew_ that everyone was probably going to hate him, but sometimes, doing the right thing was the hardest thing to do. It was the shittiest thing to do, but it had to be done. 

"Sir," Franklin interrupted. 

Weston cocked an eyebrow. "Franklin?"

"Don't expel Steve, sir." 

The silence that followed was almost funny.

A part of Franklin was screaming at him. _What the fuck? What are you doing?_ And honestly, Franklin was wondering himself. But he had to do this.  _  
_

Steve was staring at him, wordlessly. 

"If you expel Steve," Franklin began, "it doesn't solve anything."

"It keeps an _arsonist_ out of my school," Weston shot back, a flash of anger in his eyes. "Clinton, have you lost your mind?"

 _I think so_ , Franklin wanted to say, but instead he swallowed and said, "Sir, Steve is graduating next week. If you expel him now, he'll just turn into some bitter dude, and turn into an even bigger asshole than he is now. Uh, no offence."

Steve was still staring at him.

"Let him graduate," Franklin pleaded. "Then, he'll be gone from the school anyway."

"Clinton--"

"When Steve got  _me_ expelled, I was so mad that I wanted to do any number of things to get back at him. Expelling him will just start this whole damn cycle over again, I'm tellin' you, sir."

Weston pressed his lips together. "You're serious?"

"Yes, sir." 

There were a few beats of silence, in which the fire crackled and the rain drizzled and Steve's breathing caught, before finally, Weston looked down at his hands, shook his head, and swallowed. "I can't believe I'm doing this," he mumbled, more to himself than to them. He raised his head. "Haines, you're _also_ un-expelled. Graduate next week, and then get the hell out of this school. Go back home and work for your old man, make _his_ life miserable instead of mine." He met Franklin's eyes and frowned. "You're a weird kid."

Franklin sighed. "I know." 

Steve didn't thank Franklin on his way out, but Franklin didn't expect him to. Steve just hooked his gaze, and nodded, just once. Franklin nodded back. 

The door closed behind Steve and Weston exhaled. 

"Remind me again why I just did that?"

"Because, as much as you act like you don't, you actually kind of like me?" Franklin said. "Uh, sir."

Weston leaned back, his forehead scrunching. "Just get of here." 

Franklin smirked. "See you around, sir." 

He thought he saw Weston smile as the door closed. 

 

* * *

 

 

One week later, and Franklin was sitting on the school steps. 

" _Ow_ ," he hissed. 

"Pff, baby." Tess snorted, pressing the pad of her thumb lightly against the yellowish bruise beneath Franklin's eye. "It's healing fine. You're lucky he didn't break your nose. Who knew Steve Haines could actually punch?"

"Who knew Tess Williams could nearly knock a fucker out with a rock?" 

She rolled her eyes. "Are you suggesting I _couldn't_ do it? That's a sexist remark that you just made." 

"Maybe when they make that Black Widow movie, you could be her." Franklin suggested. 

"Because of my incredible badassery or because of the skin-tight black suit?"

Franklin smirked.

Tess snorted again. "Don't make _me_ break your nose." 

It was morning, and the sun had come out. The campus was decorated with balloons and banners and the air was light and breezy. The smell of freshly-mown grass tickled Franklin's nose, as did the perfume Tess was wearing.  They were sitting close, knees touching, and he knew that it was almost time to go, but he didn't want to move. Not when she was right here, exactly where he needed her to be. She looked good, too, all dressed-up for the ceremony in a summery kind of dress, her glossy red hair curled and falling in soft waves down her back. 

Franklin nudged her knee with his. "Hey."

"What?"

"Thanks for hitting him with that rock." 

She shrugged. "You needed me." She tucked a lock of hair behind her ear and smiled. "But I have to admit, I'm all kinds of pissed-off that you didn't let Weston expel him."

Franklin nodded. "I know, but it'll make sense once you ain't mad no more." 

Floods of parents were coming in through the gates, as car after car pulled up outside and excited families jumped out. 

"I'm a little depressed," Tess admitted. "It's going to be so weird without Michael or Dom here." 

"I know, but we'll see 'em whenever we can. Over the summer. School vacations. Maybe next Christmas?" 

Tess smiled warmly. "That sounds nice." She elbowed him. "So, you're definitely sticking around? You don't have any other schools that need their whole way of operating fucked up?" 

He laughed. "I don't think so. So, yeah, I'm staying." He turned and looked at her. "Guess I found something worth sticking around for." 

"Ooh. You mean Lamar?"

He rolled his eyes and laughed again, not even realizing he was moving towards her until his arms had folded around her and her own were sliding around his neck, and she was closer than she's ever been, and kissing him like it was something they did every day, all the time, but even though it was so familiar to him Franklin still felt as though the air was being sucked from his lungs, and that his heart was expanding and the world was fading away and all that they ever had, and all that they ever needed, was right here, in this moment, for the rest of their lives. 

"Well, fucking finally." 

They pulled away at the sound of a voice. It was Lamar, standing a few feet away with an amused expression. 

Franklin stood, and took Tess's hand in his own to pull her up. He didn't let it go. 

Lamar smirked. "Though, I gotta say, I'm kind of disappointed. I had a bet going with Dom that it'd be at least another month."

Franklin swatted him. "Come on, we're gonna be late." 

 

* * *

 

 

The three of them found seats a few rows from the front. The mood was giddy. In front of them, a sea of black-robed Seniors were laughing and talking and crying, sitting before a sleek, wooden stage that had been erected on the now, thankfully dried-out football field. An enormous  _Goodbye Bullworth Seniors_ banners adorned every possible surface, as blue-and-white balloons had been stuck in their bunches on the stage. The school band was playing the school song at an obnoxiously loud volume, but nobody cared, because it was graduation and if there was ever a time to pretend like you'd actually loved your school, this was it. 

Weston took to the stage five minutes after they had arrived, grinning for the cameras and putting on that false charm he always did whenever parents were around. But most of his speech was sincere, Franklin could tell. And then, towards the end, he nodded at the crowd, genuinely smiled and said, "And now, I'd like to invite Michael Townley to the stage for a short presentation." 

The crowd burst into thunderous applause and cheers as Michael made his way slowly up the steps, a half-embarrassed, half-stunned expression on his face. Weston and Coach Quinn both shook his hand, passing him an envelope of what had to be Sorry-You-Got-Really-Injured-On-Our-Field compensation money, as well as a pretty sweet gold medal with his name on it, and the time period he'd been Bullhorn quarterback. Michael looked visibly moved as he returned to his seat. 

The ceremony only lasted a little while longer after that, with the class president -- who looked more than a little drunk -- stumbling up to make a half-garbled but still quite emotional speech, a few of the teachers giving career advice, before closing with another short few words from Weston and a video presentation showing the Seniors throughout the year, set to Rent's  _Seasons Of Love_ , which Franklin thought was a little too sombre for a graduation song, but people were probably going to cry anyway, so maybe it didn't really matter. 

There was a huge cheer and lengthy applause when the screen faded to black. Franklin was surprised to find his own heart feeling a little heavy. Tess reached over and grabbed his hand, giving it a squeeze. 

"I feel like a proud mom," she joked. 

There were tables of refreshments dotted around the field for the parents and students. Franklin picked his way through the crowds with Lamar and Tess in tow, looking for Michael. Just as he spotted the Jock, shaking hands with somebody's dad across the field, someone grabbed Franklin's arm and pulled him into a hug. 

"Graduation!" Dom whooped. "Well, not really." 

Franklin pulled away from him, looked down and realized Dom was in his ordinary uniform. "Dog, where's your gown?" 

Dom grinned. "It turns out, when you spend as much time in the hospital as The Dominator does, you kind of miss a lot of class."

Franklin's eyes widened. "You're not graduating?"

"I'm repeating Senior year," Dom told him, but he was grinning from ear to ear. "How  _awesome_ is that, bro?" 

Tess arched an eyebrow. "You're happy?" 

"Sure! This year kind of sucked for me, you know, being Steve's puppy and getting punched in the face a lot. So." 

Franklin chuckled. "Hey man, I don't mean to be happy you gotta repeat Senior year or nothing but, this means you're sticking around, huh?"

"Yeah, bro! And better yet, Steve's not gonna be here. A few of the Harrington Hous-ers were trying to make me be the new clique leader, but..."

Lamar clapped him on the shoulder. "Homie, that'd be perfect for you." 

Dom shrugged, a smile working its way onto his face. "We'll see. But, anyway, I'm looking forward to hanging out next year, dudes." 

Franklin fist-bumped him, laughing. "Yeah man, it's gonna be fucking great. Roll on next year." 

"There's Michael," Tess said, pointing to where Michael stood, waving at them. 

Lamar nudged Dom before they moved away. "By the way homie, you owe me 50 bucks." 

"Kid!" Michael grinned and pulled Franklin into a hug. "I fucking graduated." 

"I saw," Franklin laughed. "Hey, congratulations man." 

"That's not all," Michael said. His eyes were gleaming. "Weston felt bad about me getting my back all fucked up on the field, so he called this guy he knows and got me a summer job!"

"That's awesome, homie!" Franklin said. 

"That's not the awesome part," Michael told him excitedly. "The guy he knows is  _Solomon Richards_." 

Franklin blinked. 

"Solomon Richards? Richards Majestic? Big time movie producer? Kind of a _fucking hero_ to me?"

Franklin's eyes widened. "Shit, really? You're gonna be working for him?"

"He's been looking for an apprentice, but Weston said if I really work hard, it'll turn into a _full-time thing_." Michael grinned. "Fuckin' A! I've always wanted to make movies, and now I fucking am! And the pay ain't bad for an apprentice, I gotta say, so me and Amanda are gonna have more than enough to make sure this kid is looked after." 

Franklin was so overwhelmed he didn't quite know what to say, so, he just hugged Michael instead. "I'm real happy for you man, wow. You're gonna be great." 

"What about Trevor?" Tess asked. 

Michael smiled, and nodded at something behind them. They all turned to see none other than Trevor, standing in a shirt and tie next to Weston. 

"He came?" Tess was amazed. 

"I don't know what's gonna happen, exactly," Michael said to no-one in particular. "With me and Amanda going back to her town and all. But I do know, things are gonna be good. Trevor's always surprised me, I don't think he's gonna stop any time soon." 

Franklin hesitated. "Are you two...?"

Trevor looked over at them then, his eyes lighting up. 

Michael smiled. "Yeah. Yeah, we are." 

"I don't know about y'all," Lamar said, "but I feel like celebrating." 

"I'm down," Michael said happily. "I'm actually really looking forward to getting off this fuckin' football field." 

"How about a big meal at the diner?" Tess suggested. "Graduating Seniors get a huge discount today."

Franklin nodded. "Fuck yeah, and then, maybe we could all head up to the hill. The one by the carnival. Hang out for the last time. All of us." 

"Sounds good to me," Michael said, grinning. "Somebody grab Trevor and let's get out of here." 

 

* * *

 

 

"This is the  _coolest_ view," Tess gasped, as the group of them ascended the steep, grassy hill that overlooked the carnival, all flashing, neon lights and music. 

The meal at the diner had been nothing short of amazing, and they were all stuffed, so much so that pulling themselves up the hill was quite the challenge. Michael had ditched his robe, but kept the hat on, and Trevor was having a great time winding him up about it. 

"It's kind of our place," Trevor said, "but I guess you can sit up here too." 

Tess snorted. "Thanks, Tweaker."

"Anytime, Raghead." 

They collapsed onto the grass, laughing, the lights of the carnival in Franklin's eyes. 

And it was there, sitting on top of the hill with Michael and Trevor, Tess, Lamar and Dom, that Franklin thought back to the first day he set foot through the Bullworth gates. It felt like a lifetime ago. So much had happened, so much had changed. Franklin spent a lot of his life looking backward before now. Looking back at his shitty childhood, his shitty aunt, his shitty time in shitty schools. And now he could finally look forward. Because, for the first time in his life, there were things to look forward  _to_. 

He'd first come here lost and alone. There was no denying that. He'd expected for Bullworth Academy to be just like any other school he'd gone to. He'd go through the same process: go, fuck up, get kicked out. And while that process had technically happened here, it felt different. Better. Like he finally had a place to call his own. But, more than just a place, too. Franklin looked around at his friends, remembered how he'd come here knowing none of them. 

The truth was, he hadn't just found a home here.

He'd found a family. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO THAT'S IT. OH MY GOD. THIS FIC IS MORE OR LESS DONE.  
> My incredibly long thank-you note will come at the end of the epilogue, which will tie up some last remaining loose ends (*coughBABYTOWNLEYcough*). I'm actually hoping to post it in the next few days, so it shouldn't be too long at all before we say our final goodbye to Bullworth. SNIFF. 
> 
> I have to say, writing those closing parts was fucking emotional. I love these characters, I love Bully, and combining the two has been such an amazing, hilarious and surprising experience that I'm reluctant to let them go. But, nevertheless, I hope you enjoyed this chapter. I really like the idea of Weston secretly liking Franklin and secretly rooting for him, and I also made Dom repeat his Senior year because I love him sfm and felt like he had such a shitty Senior year, he needed a do-over. ALSO, THREE CHEERS FOR FRANKLIN AND TESS!
> 
> SO. Please let me know what you think, your feedback is always phenomenal and means the world to me. It might even make the epilogue come earlier, like... tomorrow... ;) 
> 
> I love you guys. So much. THANK YOU. See you for the last time next chapter. :')


	26. Epilogue

 

_**Two Months Later** _

 

The rattling, groaning Buick trundled on down the cluttered highway, as the skies parted wide and drops of fresh, cool rain poured down onto the too-hot asphalt. It was a swelteringly hot afternoon, and Franklin imagined steam rising from the ground as the rain hit it. The windshield wipers creaked and squealed as they made weak attempts at wiping away the rain-splattered glass, making Franklin wince. This fucking death trap of a car. It was like sitting in the backseat of a tin can. 

"Lamar, that fucking sound is starting to drive me crazy."

Lamar barely glanced at him in the front mirror. "It's broken, homie. This car came cheap for a reason."

"Man, where did your stepdad find this beaten-up piece of shit? Back of a junkyard?"

Lamar rolled his eyes. "I don't see _you_ with a sweet ride."

Franklin tugged roughly on the strap of the seatbelt. It was threadbare, igniting a spark of concern in him that, if they ended up some kind of car accident, the ratty old thing would do more damage than rescuing. He turned and looked out the window, watched the line of ocean on the horizon. He'd never been to this city before, and so far he liked it. It managed to be large and sprawling while simultaneously feeling quite community-driven, with quiet cul-de-sacs and colorful apartment blocks, spread wide for miles. The rain washed away the heat, making everything seem freshly-scrubbed and cheerful, and all around them people went about their daily business. Franklin found comfort in how routine it felt. He admired the buildings and stores that he passed, and only after some of the buildings began to repeat themselves did he notice Lamar was effectively driving around in circles. 

"Man, your ass is  _lost_ ," Franklin accused. 

"Frank, I seem to remember that we were following  _your_ directions up until now. You got us lost." He glanced sideways, to where Tess sat in the passenger seat. "My co-driver here knows the way better than you, so shut up back there."

"It's not my fault Michael's handwriting is hard to read."

"Will you two relax?" Tess said, cutting through their argument with that sharp 'Mom' voice that always made them immediately stop whatever it was they weren't supposed to be doing. "We'll get there. I recognise this road from Michael's directions, anyway. We're fine." 

Lamar shot Franklin a smug look in the mirror. Franklin flipped him off. 

"How did your lanky ass get a license?"

"All I hear is jealousy, homie."

"Look at that," Tess pointed just ahead of them, to where a signpost with numerous directions stood at a crossroads. "It's pointing to West Valley. That's where Michael was talking about."

"So we're right on track," Lamar said. 

The car slowed to turn. They ended up a road that climbed a hill, flanked by small businesses and houses, and kept on going until the road flattened out and spread wider, entering a more built-up area, the sidewalks clogged with bobbing umbrellas. There were plenty of kids their age dotted around, as was to be expected for the middle of July. Lamar cursed and smacked the steering wheel when a young kid suddenly darted out across the road in front of them to join his friends on the other side. 

"Fuck, that was too close."

"Please don't get us arrested," Tess said dryly. "I'd really like to maintain my record of being one of the few Bullworth Academy students _without_ a criminal record."

 

Lamar glanced down at his watch. "Shit, we better hurry. Michael said you aren't let in after five."

"It's just up ahead," said Tess. "Oh man, I'm so excited!" 

The car travelled on for another ten minutes, before the road diverged and gave way to an enormous, busy parking lot, attached to which stood a large, enamel-white building. Lamar found the entrance and tapped his thumb against the steering wheel as he searched for a spot. Franklin felt a flutter of nervous anticipation in his chest when the car stopped. He slid out, feeling the rain like cold pinpricks on the back of his neck and head, but then, sudden warmth flooded him. He looked down, to where Tess had grabbed his hand and laced her fingers with his. 

"Ready?" she asked him. Her smile was every color of the rainbow, and he couldn't look away. 

"Uh-huh."

 

* * *

 

 

Inside, the hospital was too-clean and too-warm and stank like it had been scrubbed with bleach. Franklin was taken back to just months ago, when he had hurried down the corridor of a similar hospital with his heart in his throat and his legs threatening to give out from under him, wondering if his friend would be able to walk again. But he made it. They all made it. Franklin felt different walking into this hospital. He felt... invincible. Truly happy. 

Lamar loped ahead, all awkward arms and legs, craning his neck to look at signs pointing in every direction. He turned back to them and nodded, jabbing his thumb towards a flight of stairs with a smile on his face. Franklin felt his happiness growing with each step he took, his own heart climbing with him. By the time they had reached the next floor, he was practically flying. 

Carts of medical equipment whizzed by as they stepped out into a crowded corridor packed with activity. Nurses in shell-pink scrubs flew by with charts and papers, murmuring amongst themselves as a bored-sounding voices sighed out the names of patients and called doctors to rooms over the corridor tannoy. 

"Which room did Michael say?" Tess asked. 

"Sixteen." 

Tess led the way, weaving in and out of people's way. Franklin followed behind, for a moment transfixed by the sway of her hips, until Lamar caught him looking and smacked his shoulder with a smirk. 

"Here we are, room sixteen." Tess took a breath and pushed the door open. 

The room was warm and nicely furnished, if mostly blank. The first thing Franklin saw was the small little cot, set up next to the bed. A smile came instantly to his face. 

"Hey kids!" It was Michael, tired but euphoric, in a rumpled suit that somehow made him look older and wiser than his eighteen years. He hugged the three of them hard. "You made it!"

"Congratulations, homie," Franklin said, patting him on the shoulder. He glanced over to where Amanda lay in a sea of blankets, make-up-less and pretty, her mouth soft with sleep. She smiled at him sincerely. Despite all the crap she'd been through, she looked more content than Franklin had ever seen her. 

"Excuse me." A grubby hand raised itself lazily on the other side of the room. "Where's my congratulations? I'm the third parent here." 

Something in Franklin brightened. "Congratulations, T."

"Thank you." Trevor swung his long legs over the arm of the chair he was reclining in and crossed the room, coming to stop by the cot. He peered inside it and Franklin witnessed the remarkable look of pure love that instantly sparked to life in his eyes, a firework, a burst of softness that Franklin never thought he'd see in Trevor. 

Michael flushed, a small little smile on his face as he looked at Franklin. "So, do you want to meet her?"

"Her?" Franklin repeated, amazed. 

Michael huffed out a laugh. "We all thought it was a boy, I know. But, yeah, guess the universe wasn't done with the surprises this year." 

The three of them took a step forward, Franklin's heart skipping a beat when he first got a glimpse of the small little newborn lying in the cot. She was just six pounds, with skin as soft and pink as rose petals, and a few delicate wisps of gold-blond hair. Her eyes were open, the exact same shade of blue as Michael's. Chubby feet kicked the air and cherub fists wiggled as she looked up at Franklin, her face peaceful but curious. He felt something inside him break open with love. She was beautiful. 

Tess giggled, reaching down to softly stroke the baby's hair. "Ooh, she's so  _tiny_."

"She's damn adorable," Lamar chuckled, tickling her stomach with one long finger. "Looks just like you, Mike."

Franklin raised his head and looked at Michael, dumbstruck and baffled. Michael grinned and nudged him. 

"Wanna hold her, Godfather?"

"Hell yeah!" 

Michael reached down to scoop her up into his arms, beginning the slow and cautious pass-over to Franklin. 

"Be careful," Amanda called softly. "Support her head."

"Yeah, here kid, sit down." Michael ushered Franklin over to the chair by the window and slowly passed him the little girl again. Franklin felt nervous holding her at first, awkwardly supporting the weight of her head, but after a few moments he relaxed and felt more comfortable. He was doing it right, he wouldn't hurt her, and best of all, she wasn't screaming her lungs out and begging to be taken away. 

"She's beautiful," Franklin whispered. "Jesus, man, she's a blessing." He looked up at Michael. "Does she have a name yet?"

"Tracey. Her name's Tracey." 

"Tracey Townley," Tess said, beaming. "Welcome to the world." 

"Actually, it's gonna be Tracey Philips-Townley," Trevor chimed in. "Once me and Sugar Tits shack up properly and get the legal shit done." 

"For real?" Franklin asked. 

Michael went red to his hairline, rubbing the back of his neck. "Uh, not for a while. I think Trevor's getting ahead of himself." But he still smiled, real and bright and happy. "When we get everything settled and I scrape together enough to get a real house somewhere... yeah."

"Speaking of," Lamar chuckled, gesturing to Michael's clothes, "nice threads, homie. That Soloman Richards cat paying you good?"

"Oh man, it's the best job in the world," Michael shook his head, as if he couldn't believe his luck. "I'm workin' solid hours, getting the cash together, and I'm making movies! Mr. Richards' been dropping some heavy hints too about this whole summer apprenticeship turning into a full-time thing. And, that's not even the best part." Michael nodded at Trevor. "He got himself a job, too."

Tess snorted. "I wouldn't call drug dealing a job." 

Trevor frowned. "Excuse me, but I'm not in that line of work anymore."

Lamar laughed. "Oh really? Made an honest man of yourself or somethin', Crazy Dude?"

Michael blinked. "Uh, not quite."

Trevor crossed his arms and nodded at Franklin. "Do you remember my friend Maude?"

Franklin fought to suppress a shiver. "How could I?"

"Well, she... has herself a little _business_ , and she's made me an honorary employee of said business."

"What kind of _'business_ '?" asked Franklin suspiciously. 

"Let's just say, Maude specializes in finding people that don't wanna be found. _I_ do the findin', of course. The money's good and I'm great at it, so that's all that matters."

"Man, don't tell me any more, I don't wanna know," Franklin chuckled, shaking his head. "At least y'all are happy." 

And they were happy. The realisation was a bolt of lightning to the chest, that lit Franklin up from the inside out and fizzed hot and overwhelming in his veins. He rubbed the pad of this thumb over Tracey's small little hand, his heart expanding. He glanced up at Michael and Trevor, the most mismatched couple he'd ever seen, with Michael in a sharp suit and Trevor in grimy jeans and a t-shirt reading  _Satisfaction Guaranteed_ , and he knew that they had made it. They were going to be okay. They had survived what had been the most bizarre, traumatic and exhilarating year of Franklin's life and they'd come out with just a few scars. Now, they had a hell of a story to tell, and it could only get better.   


Franklin met Tess's eyes and mirrored her smile, knowing that she was thinking the exact same thing. 

Bullworth Academy was the worst school Franklin had ever been to. It was ridiculous, dangerous and more hostile than the front lines of a war zone, but amazingly, it had become home. And these nutcases had become his family. And nothing would ever be the same again. 

Franklin looked down at Tracey and, for some reason, the only thing he could think of was his mother. When she left him, he never thought he'd ever be happy again. It just didn't seem right. He was an orphan, a troublemaking lost cause destined to spiral out of control and end up the same way everybody from his old neighbourhoods had ended up. There had been no hope. He didn't really have much of anything to look forward to. 

It was different, now.

Now, he had a godchild to watch grow up. Now, he had the greatest group of friends he could ever have wished for, and a girlfriend he felt as though he'd been waiting his whole life for. Franklin pictured his future now and was overwhelmed with it, where as before, he struggled with it. Now, he saw graduations and parties and weddings, vacations and travelling and endless Christmasses and birthdays together. Up until last September, he'd spent his life alone. Now, he would never be alone again.

Franklin cradled Tracey a little tighter to his chest, beaming. 

He'd done his mother proud after all. 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YOU GUYS. That's it!
> 
> I wanted the epilogue to be short and to the point, and while there are still some things I feel like could go in here, I'm more than happy with how it all turned out, and hopefully, you are too. YAY HAPPY ENDING!! I started this story waaay back in March, when I was still in high school, and now I'm finishing it as a college student and, man, it'll be so weird to not be writing this anymore. I have some ideas for some one-shots I could write in the future, like how Trevor and Michael first met, a Franklin and Tess exclusive one-shot, etc.. but only if you guys want. :) This AU has so much potential and I really don't think I'm anywhere near exploring all of it yet. 
> 
> THANK YOU for the amazing feedback I got over the course of writing this fic - you really don't know how nice it is to know that this little scribble made people smile, laugh, cry (sorry about the crying) etc. I want to especially thank the amazing Núria for motivating me to write when I was stuck in a rut. And to everyone that did art -- HOLY SHIT?! I've never written anything that got such gorgeous art before this, so I want to thank you profusely for that, for all of the comments and kudos and messages - this fandom is kick ass and I love all of you and let's never stop writing about Trikey, okay? 
> 
> Merry Christmas and Happy New Year. Here's to crossing over that finish line! It's been an adventure. <3


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